The Second Quarter Quell
by haaleeey
Summary: Fighting, famine, friendship and of course a little bit of love. This is Haymitch and Maysilee's story of the Second Quarter Quell told from both their perspectives. Unfortunately we all know how this ends.
1. Chapter 1: Reaping Day

**CHAPTER ONE**

**MAYSILEE DONNER**

"Mayyyyysilee," calls a singsong whisper. Too early, I think throwing my arm up to shield my eyes from the morning light. "Mayyyysilee," I groan and roll over. "Maysilee!" This time the voice is accompanied by the thwack of a pillow. I pull back my arm and squint. A pair of large blue eyes loom inches from my nose. "Time to get up," Maybelle says laughing.

"Ten more minutes," I mutter sleepily rolling back over.

"Don't you know what day it is!?" She calls, shaking me. I try to blink back the morning fog and think clearly. I frown, "Reaping day."

"No! Well yes… but I mean that's not why it's important!" My sister must be the only person in all of Panem to treat reaping day so trivially.

"Enlighten me," I say sarcastically.

"Today is the day Caldwell Undersee is going to ask me to go steady," she squeals, flopping down on the bed dramatically.

"Caldwell?" I say, trying to remember which boy he is. "What happened to June?" I ask. Of course his name isn't really June. I'd gotten into the habit of naming Maybelle's flings by the month in which they ensued because they came and went so quickly.

She rolls her eyes, "Will you please use his name?"

I shrug, "I don't remember it." Even though Maybelle and I share the same wide blue eyes and long golden hair it's her the boys trip over themselves to date. She's full of child-like wonder and innocence – the kind that makes you want to shield her from all the evils of the world. She's vivacious and bubbly – the very opposite of me. I've always gotten the impression that people only tolerate me because they truly adore her.

"That's great news about…." I frown, "I've already forgotten his name, can't I just call him July?"

She scowls, "No! And you'll be nice – I actually like this one." I roll my eyes – I've only heard that about a million times.

"Have you told Lillian about your new boy yet?" Lillian is our very best friend. When we were younger we used to tell people that we were triplets.

"Not yet, I wanted you to be the first to know. After the reaping," she resolves.

"Speaking of," I say, "What are we going to wear?" Traditionally Maybelle and I wear matching outfits – it's silly but kind of our good luck charm. I don't know what I would do if one of us got reaped. The thought of Maybelle in the games is almost humorous. The sight of blood alone is enough to make her faint.

"I'm thinking the yellow," she muses, "Yellow is Caldwell's favourite colour," she sighs dreamily. Oh boy. I know what dress she's referring to, a cute little number that slims our waist and sets off the gold in our hair.

"Alright," I agree.

**HAYMITCH ABERNATHY**

I hate this day. I hate how we all shuffle into the square like cattle. I hate the way the collar of my dress shirt chafes against my neck. I hate it all. The Capitol is mocking all of us. Four of us will be sent to die while the rest of us are forced to stay at home and celebrate… as if there were anything to be happy about. It's the Quarter Quell, which means a rule change. Twice as many tributes, twice as many kids dead. All because of a rebellion that happened more than 50 years ago.

The sun beats down on me as I walk over to Grey's house. I know the path to her house so well I barely think about it. When I see Silver playing on the small brown lawn I feel my foul mood begin to dissipate. I watch her as she throws a pebble and tries to hop around it. The kid has literally no co-ordination and ends up falling flat on the ground. "Luckily you still have three more years before entering the reaping pool. You wouldn't last two seconds in the arena," I call.

"Haymitch!" she squeals in delight. She leaps up and runs to me, giving me a tight hug.

I ruffle her dark curls, "Hey sweetheart."

"I didn't know you were coming today!"

"Just stopped by to wish good luck to your big sister."

Silver makes a face, "She's being very bossy today."

I chuckle, "Today? Try every day."

"I'm supposed to be doing laundry, but I escaped," she tells me as I push open the door to Grey's house. Grey's facing away from us when we enter, elbow deep in a sink full of dishes humming to herself. I allow myself a brief moment to appreciate her. Even though I can only see her profile she's still stunning. I take in her olive skin, round gray eyes and tumbling brown hair. She'd be truly beautiful if you could look the protruding bones that come with missing too many meals.

I turn to Silver and put my finger to my lips. She nods excitedly catching on to my plan. Slowly we creep up behind her, I put up my fingers for Silver to see. 3….2…1… "GOTCHA!"

Grey shrieks, dropping the dish was holding back into the sink and sending soapy water in every direction. Silver dissolves into a fit of giggles, her dress completely soaked. "Dammit Haymitch!" yells Grey, water dripping from her hair. She smacks me with her damp washcloth.

"Ow," I laugh, "I yield, I yield," I yell putting my hands up in mock surrender.

This at least earns me a small smile from Grey, "You're an idiot," she says, smacking me one more time so I know I'm not forgiven.

"Just part of my charm," I smirk before pulling her in for a kiss.

Silver makes a gagging noise, "Gross," she huffs.

Grey rolls her eyes, "Are you done the laundry?"

Silver shots her a guilty look, "Uhh… almost."

"Finish it," Grey says sternly. "And quit hogging my boyfriend," she adds in a mock-scold. Silver gives me a sheepish look before leaving to finish off the laundry I'm sure she never started.

"Happy Reaping Day," I tell Grey.

"And may the odds be ever in your favour," she quips back jokingly. I lower my voice just in case Silver is still within earshot.

"How many times is your name in this year?" Grey lost her mother when she was only five. With her father in the mines as often as possible it's pretty much just her and Silver. I know how hard she's fought to keep them alive even when it meant sacrificing herself.

She gives me a tight smile, "Don't worry about it!" I know she means to sound reassuring but it comes out strangled.

I smooth her hair and kiss her forehead, "I'm not worrying - you're going to be fine." After a beat I add, "And have you seen the things you can do with a washcloth! You're a real hazard. I bet you'd win for sure!" Grey laughs and swats at my chest. She wraps her arms around my waist and for a moment I forget all about the reaping.

**MAYSILEE **

Once we've bathed our mother sits with us and brushes our hair until it shines like spun gold. We own a small sweets shop, and my mother's hands are used to working gently and quickly. When she's done my hair I go feed Indigo, my songbird. My father gave him to me last year for my 14th birthday. He's beautiful really, with long sapphire blue feathers. The crown of his head is pure white, and his eyes a startling shade of purple. Even though Maybelle loathes him I admire him for his beauty and song. Every week I sit with him and teach him a new song. Sometimes Lillian will come over with a new song and we'll teach it to him together. Today he chirps an upbeat wedding song I taught him last week. I laugh and join my voice with his, singing the lyrics out loud. Just as he finishes his tune there's a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," Maybelle says, bounding towards the door. I suppose she thinks it's her new mystery boyfriend. But no, it's just Lillian carrying a small package.

"Happy Reaping Day!" She calls cheerfully. Her reaping dress is a soft blue that makes her eyes gleam. I've always thought she was the prettiest girl in all of District Twelve – maybe even all of Panem. "I brought presents." She unfurls the small brown paper bag.

"What is it," asks Maybelle wrinkling her nose.

Lillian pulls out tiny packages of tealeaves. "They're supposed to have healing properties," she picks up one of the purple packages. "This one is good for stress," she tells us. "This one for insomnia," she gestures to an orange one

. "Thank you Lillian, how thoughtful," my mother coos. My mother adores Lillian, which is not surprising – every one loves her. The daughter of an apothecary merchant, she is gentle and caring.

"We got you something too," I declare. Maybell pulls out a small box of assorted sweets. "We made them ourselves," she says proudly. Tiny spheres of flavoured sugar gleam in the light. Each one is a different colour – teal, magenta, burgundy. From the look on Lillian's face our hard work paid off.

"Thank you," she breathes.

I grin, "No, thank you for being such a great friend," I say hugging her. Even though my mouth is pressed against her ear I lower my voice. My sister has many great qualities but keeping a secret is not one of them. "How is Heath?" Lillian has been seeing Heath, a boy from the Seam, for some time now. Of course she's kept this secret from nearly everyone. She is a merchants daughter and him a simple coal miner.

"Oh Maysilee he's wonderful," she sighs blissfully. "I think… I think he might ask me to marry him," she says softly.

"That's wonderful," I exclaim without thinking. Then I realize what this means – Lillian will move to the Seam and leave us. "Oh," I say dejectedly. "What about Mitchell Mellark?" Mitchell is the baker's boy and he's been desperately in love with Lillian since the first grade.

Lillian bites her lip, "I'm sure he'll understand."

I take her hand, "I wish you the greatest happiness," I say. Then in the back of my head I make a quick prayer that Lillian will not be reaped this year.

**HAYMITCH **

When I get home from my mother is waiting for me. "Oh Haymitch, you've already gotten yourself dirty," she fusses, trying to smooth out the wrinkles.

I swat her hand away, "Mom, it's going to be fine," I say trying to placate her. Every year it's the same routine. She fusses, she tears up, she scolds me and the cycle repeats. I can't even imagine what she's going to be like when my younger brother Sage is old enough to join the reaping pool.

"I don't want you looking like trash if you… if they…" she peters out.

"They wont," I say firmly. "There's thousands of names in that pool, the odds are in my favour," I joke.

"I for one think Haymitch would be fine even if he did get reaped," pipes up Sage. I didn't even notice him sitting at the table he was so quiet. He's got a large book in front of him illustrated with plants and leaves. The sweet merchant girl from the apothecary must have lent it to him. This is the third book he's read this week alone - he's already devoured nearly all the books in District Twelve. I always joke that he is a 70 year old man trapped in the body of an 11 year old. "Haymitch is smart and quick," Sage says resolutely.

"See?" I say, "Sage has to be the smartest kid in Panem and if he says I'm going to be okay it must be so," I declare. This warrants a tight smile from our mother. "Honestly you worry too much," I say, giving her a peck on the cheek. I join Sage, at the table. "I saw your girlfriend today," I tease. The tips of Sage's ears turn fiery red, but he flips through his book as if he hadn't heard me. "Silveeeeer," I say in a high falsetto.

"She is not my girlfriend, you imbecile!" Sage growls in irritation, slamming his book shut.

I smirk, "Then why are you so embarrassed?" Sage sputters but I know exactly why he's embarrassed. The girls in school are practically in love with him but he's too busy with his books to notice. I bet girls have never even crossed his mind.

"I don't have to answer to you," he huffs, storming out.

My mother shakes her head. "Why do you have to work him up like that?"

I shrug, "It's funny."

She sighs and puts a hand on my cheek, "You're looking so much like your father these days." From what I remember of my father this is probably true. We share the same dark curly hair and gray Seam eyes. He died from bronchitis seven years ago. I was nine and Sage was only four. I look away when my mother's eyes tear up. It always makes me feel uncomfortable when she does this. Like I'm bringing up bad memories just by existing.

She brushes away her tears quickly, "Well then, I suppose we should be off – don't want to miss the reaping," she says somewhat jokingly.

I squeeze her hand for reassurance, "It will be fine."

**MAYSILEE **

I feel like I've been standing for eternity listening to the mayor drone on about the history of Panem. He recounts the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts and finally the Treaty of Treason that resulted in the Hunger Games. Maybelle's palm feels slippery in mine. Knowing her that probably less to do with nerves and more to do with the torturous sun beating down on us. Lillian holds my other hand. When I look over at her she gives me a tiny smile of encouragement. Finally the mayor is done with his horrendously dull speech and Eustacia Cashew steps up to the podium. Against the gloomy landscape of our town square she is practically luminescent. Her skin is a pale orange intoned with silver swirls. She sports bright red lipstick and garish yellow eyeshadow. I wonder if she knows how ridiculous she looks. Almost as if in response Eustacia fluffs her absurd mane of neon orange hair. It's time for the reaping. Lilian gives my hand a light squeeze. I wonder if she can hear how fast my heart is beating.

"Ladies first!" Eustacia dips her long talons into the bowl of names. "Poppy Hayes," she reads. A willowy girl steps out from the crowd. She can't be older than thirteen. She's shaking so hard it's a wonder she's managing to walk. "And now for our second female tribute," Eustacia crones. I'd almost forgotten, there would be two of us this year. "Maysilee Donner!"

When I was younger, after it rained me and my father would go out to edge of the fence. There, near the border was a small dried up creek. Sometimes after a big storm the creek would flood with so much water you could wade in it. On days like that my father would take me out for a swim. Maybelle always excused herself for fear of getting dirty but I loved it. When the water was high enough I would fully immerse myself in water. Underwater nothing could reach me – no sounds but the gentle whoosh of water in my ears.

That is how I feel when I hear my name called – like I'm underwater. The world slows down and all I hear is a dull whoosh. I'm finally called back by the keening wail of Maybelle. "Nooo!" She weeps clinging to my arm. Lillian is hugging me tightly, tears streaming down her face. I shake myself out of my daze and slip out of their grasp. I force myself to assume a brave face. Like this is nothing, like I haven't just been selected to die.

"Brava! Brava!" Eustacia is prattling on about what an honor it is to be selected. I'm concentrating very hard on my breathing. In, out, in, out. I instruct myself not to faint. I instruct myself not to cry. I instruct myself to ignore my wailing sister.

"Time to choose our boy tributes!" Eustacia calls. She plucks a name out of the reaping ball and unfurls it. "Fir Redpath." I watch as a muscular boy shakes off four younger distressed younger siblings and makes his way to the stage. When he reaches us I gulp. Both Poppy and I are dwarves compared to his huge frame. He might actually stand a chance, I think. "Well done, well done," chirps Eustacia. I decide in that moment I despise her and her ridiculous orange costume. "And now for our last tribute… Haymitch Abernathy!" The crowd parts and after a beat a dark haired boy comes sauntering towards the stage. He's wearing a ghost of a smirk, like this really is all just a game. Just as I'm thinking he might do well with the Career tributes I see him lock eyes with a brown-haired girl in the reaping pool. Her face his deathly pale and her lips repeatedly form the word no. His smirk slips for a second when he glimpses her and I suddenly understand.

The mayor begins reading the Treaty of Treason and I try to look brave. Just when I think I can't do it anymore the anthem of Panem plays and we are whisked into the Justice Building.


	2. Chapter 2: Goodbyes and a Train

**CHAPTER TWO **

**MAYSILEE **

The inside of the Justice Building is probably one of the most decadent places I've ever been in. Rich velvets of deep burgundy and navy blue carpet the chairs and the floor. Absentmindedly I stroke the chair beneath me, feeling the velvet ripple under my palm. I don't know how long I've been doing this when Maybelle and Lillian burst into the room. Maybelle is sobbing as she rushes into my arms. Lillian quietly holds my hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Maybelle weeps into my shoulder. "I should have stepped forward, I should have volunteered."

Even in my numbness this shocks me, "No! I would have never expected you to," I say soothingly. "You're my sister, I need you alive."

This only elicits a wail from Maybelle, "But I need you alive too," she chokes.

"You're smart Maysilee," says Lillian quietly, "Maybe you can win." I nod slowly not really believing it. There's forty-eight of us this year.

"Yeah, maybe," I say weakly. "But just in case I don't… will you take Indigo?" I know how Maybelle hates him and I can't stand the thought of something so beautiful going to waste.

"Of course," she murmurs softly.

"I love you May," Maybelle tells me. I smile sadly. It's a joke we've had since we were little, because both our nicknames are May. I have to swallow the huge lump that's formed in the back of my throat before I can respond.

"I love you too May."

We hold each other until the Peacekeepers drag them out.

Minutes later my parents enter. My mother is only slightly more composed than Maybelle and my father looks as though he's aged 50 years.

"Oh Maysilee," my mother says, holding me and stroking my hair. For the first time I feel a sob break through my lips. I wonder if this will be the last time my mother ever holds me.

"I'm going to die," I tell her through tears.

She looks at me with an intense expression. "Maysilee Donner don't you give up. You don't know that," she says fiercely.

"Yes, I do. Everyone's bigger than me, stronger than me, faster than me. I have no special talents to speak of. I can't hunt or use a knife and I certainly can't kill anyone!" The second I say it I know it's true. I really am going to die – I'll be shocked if I make it past the Cornucopia.

"I want you to have this," she says pressing a gold pin into my palm. I stare at the ornament as it refracts light onto the wall. It's a circular pin with a small bird taking flight in the center.

"It looks like Indigo," I say softly.

"It's a mockingjay," my father says, speaking for the first time.

"It's been in our family for a very long time," my mother adds. She hesitates and lowers her voice so much even I struggle to hear her. "Before the Hunger Games even began." I gasp as I begin to understand the implication of her words. The pin she is giving me is not just a family heirloom but a token from…. the rebellion. All those years ago my family was on the fighting side of the revolution.

"It will give you strength," says my father. "The same strength our family had so many years ago."

"Thank you," I breathe, pushing back a wave of fresh tears.

"You were always my favourite," my father says softly.

I'm surprised, "Dad, you're not allowed to say that."

He gives me a gentle smile, "But it's true," he says kissing my forehead. Too soon the Peacekeepers come to take my parents away.

My mother throws me a backward glance, "Give them a good fight, Maysilee. It's in your blood." And with that they're gone.

**HAYMITCH**

"Well aren't you all in for a treat," chirps Eustacia Cashew excitedly. "You're very first time on a Capitol train!" And most likely our last, I think darkly. Just like the how the kiss I'd shared in the Justice Building with Grey had been our last. She had immediately buried her face in my chest and sobbed. For the entire visit she clung wordlessly to me, and when it was time for her to leave she kissed me sweetly and told me she loved me. My mind couldn't stop playing the endless loop of things I would never have again. Like the sight of Silver's eyes flashing when she'd done something mischievous. Sage's wise advice when I was having a bad day. Or my mothers smooth hand on my brow. I shake these thoughts from my head and try and ground myself in the present. It's dinnertime on the train and we've been provided with more food than I think I've ever even seen. Roasted duck in a rich brown sauce garnished with orange slices, thick creamy soups peppered with herbs, lavish desserts slathered in chocolate. I feel almost sick just looking at it.

Fir looks delighted and immediately loads his plate with a mountain of food. The dark haired tribute seems completely overcome with the sight of so much food she quickly digs in with her hands. Eustacia slaps her hand lightly, "Where are your manners Poppy! You are not an animal," she admonishes.

Poppy looks abashed, "Sorry," she says through a mouth full of food. This elicits another grimace from Eustacia.

"Honestly why do I even bother," she titters, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Here watch Maysilee – look at how she delicately holds her fork and knife." Maysilee turns bright red. From the look of her she's a merchants daughter, with her delicate blonde hair, round face and red cheeks it's unlikely she's ever missed a meal.

I feel a flash of irritation, "Yeah well some of us weren't born with silver spoons in our mouths," I say coldly. Blondie looks stung even though the dig was meant for Eustacia and I push away a small pang of guilt. From then on I make a show of spooning cranberry jelly and lemon chicken onto my plate with my hands.

"Honestly Haymitch," cries Eustacia in revulsion. The horror on Eustacia's face is so comical I even throw in a couple slurping noises. She lets out a disgusted snort and turns towards our mentor. "You have your work cut out for you I'll say!" she tells him. Not that our mentor is really listening. In all 50 years of the Hunger Games we've had exactly one victor. As victor of the 21st Hunger Games, Grandis Roxon had won before I was even born. His eyes gaze without really seeing and he regards Eustacia blankly. After a beat he simply nods at her and turns back to his dinner. His hands shake dangerously as he spears a piece of broccoli smothered in cheese.

"Morphling," I hear Fir whisper to Blondie. "He's addicted to morphling." Great, as if we didn't have it rough enough being from District Twelve our only mentor was a morphling addict. No wonder we never stood a chance, part of the game was racking up sponsors. Our mentor was too busy shooting up to help us out. From the baleful look on Maysilee's face she's thinking something similar.

Eustacia seems put out by our mentor and gives a loud sigh. No doubt she's frustrated being stuck with District Twelve. She's been our district escort for more than five years and I'm sure she thinks she deserves to be bumped up to a better district by now. She smoothes back a rogue orange curl on her forehead. "I should go double check our schedules for tomorrow. We want to make sure everything runs smoothly now don't we," she trills, excusing herself for the time being.

More likely she needed to adjust her make up and cry over her broken dream to become escort to one of the Career districts. I suddenly feel a deep disgust for this charade. The way they're bringing out dishes of deserts and decadent food like we should be celebrating the good fortune of being chosen to die. The whole thing is a circus.

I watch the raven-haired Avox serving our meal pour Grandis a glass of wine. I wave her over to me and lower my voice, "Listen, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed," I flash her a smile I hope is charming. "Do you have anything that might… ease the pressure," I ask gesturing to the bottle in her hand. She blushes but seems to pick up my hint. Moments later she's back with a bottle of wine and brandy, neither of which I've ever tasted. Back in the Seam brandy was used to dull the pain of injured men from mining accidents. Wine I'd only ever seen at weddings. I pour myself a glass anyways as if I've done so a hundred times. Blondie slips me a curious look before politely returning to her dinner. The taste of the wine is bitter but pleasant and it makes my brain feel like its been stuffed with cotton balls. I try the brandy and find while it's not as good as the wine it's much more effective.


	3. Chapter 3: Too Much Brandy

**CHAPTER THREE **

**MAYSILEE **

It takes exactly five glasses of brandy for us to realize that Haymitch is a mean drunk. At around glass number two I'd turned to the boy beside me, Fir I think. "Should we stop him?" I asked quietly.

Fir shook his head; "I went to school with him. There's really no stopping him when he gets like this. Much better to let it run its course."

We'd moved from the dining table to couches for desert and tea. Grandis had excused himself shortly after Eustacia, leaving the tributes in the company of each other.

As I watch Haymitch work on his sixth glass I wonder if Fir had given such sage advice. He's turned to Poppy giving a very animated and very graphic recount of one of the more gruesome Hunger Games. Poppy looks like she wants to vomit. Fir's hands are curled into a fist and he's watching the two of them with a dark expression. I remember the game Haymitch is describing because it was one of the bloodier ones. None of the tributes were given Capitol weapons and all the fighting had to be close range with bare hands or crudely made weapons. This made for some of the most intense fighting as tributes were pummeled, strangled and drowned to death.

"So it's just the two of them left, the girl from District Two and the boy from District Five. It looked the boy was winning because he was just going at it – punching her in the face over and over. Blood was spewing everywhere – I mean absolutely gushing!"

Haymitch is chuckling humorlessly at his own story. Poppy presses her hands to her ears and rocks slightly. "I don't want to hear anymore," she gasps shrilly.

Haymitch ignores her. "Just when you thought that it was over and the boy was going to win, the girl reached out and tore his eyes right from their sockets. She literally had an eye in each hand and –"

"Stop it, Haymitch." I say feeling queasy.

"She threw the guy off her and dug a stick right into his empty eye socket, straight into his brain. While the guy – "

"That's enough," booms Fir, slamming a large fist on the table. Poppy is rocking fervently with her hands clasped over her ears.

"Why'd you have to do that Haymitch," I say angrily.

"Oh lay off, Blondie," he snarls. "She's going to find out soon enough," he gives a snort. "If she even makes it that long. Bets are before the gong even sounds she'll have lost her head… maybe even literally." With that Poppy slips into hysterical sobs, and I wrap my arm around her.

"That's it," Fir says. He stands up and heaves Haymitch out of his seat by the back of his shirt. "You've had enough. Go to your room and sober up." Haymitch's face turns an angry shade of purple, and for a second I think he might punch Fir. At the last second he seems to think better of and let's Fir lead him by the arm back to his room.

"It's okay, Poppy," I tell her soothingly when the boys are gone. She curls up on the couch beside me with her head in my lap. Her long black hair tumbles over the side and I twirl a strand absentmindedly around my index finger. This action seems to calm her a little bit because she stops crying.

"I don't want to die," she says shakily, "Not like that."

I don't blame her. A death at the hands of the Careers like the one Haymitch was describing is the worst possible. Their only concern is putting on a good show. They actually buy into all that honor crap the Capitol is constantly forcing down our throats. They wouldn't hesitate to tear Poppy to shreds despite her age. The truth is Poppy will be lucky to survive the Cornucopia let alone the rest of the Games. Barely clearing 4'9 at 90 pounds a strong gust of wind could probably send her flying. And she was not up against the wind - she was up against Careers more than three times her size. So instead of trying to argue and reassure her of her survival I opt for humming a lullaby from home. It's one my mother used to sing to Maybelle and I when we couldn't sleep. Sometimes we'd even purposely stay awake just so we could have her come in and sing to us. We'd pinch each other and tell stories to keep ourselves awake until she'd come in and check on us.

By the time Fir returns Poppy's fallen asleep in my lap. He gives a shake of his head and sits down across from us. I raise my eyebrow, "I did ask if we should stop him," I comment.

"Didn't think he'd get that bad."

"Why'd you think it was better to let him keep drinking? Do you know something I don't? I mean… we're you close with him before?"

Fir shakes his head. "No, but we used to run in the same circle of friends. He's very… intense. You can't really tell him no, just makes it worse."

I nod in understanding. "Well thanks for doing that."

Fir smiles, "It was no problem, he was being a pain in the ass. Nearly scared Poppy half to death." I suddenly hope that Fir doesn't join the Careers. There's no doubt they'll try to recruit him – nearly 6'10 with thick muscular arms and a broad chest, Fir would make a great addition to their team. Something about him doesn't seem very Career-like though – he's too kind, like a friendly giant. I wonder how he got to be so big being from the Seam. Most of the kids who live there are skinny, even Lillian's boy was a little on the lanky side.

"Hey Fir, did you ever know a Heath Everdeen?" I ask, suddenly thinking that they might've crossed paths in the Seam.

Fir's face lights up, "Heath? Yeah, we used to hang out all the time. He's a good friend. You know him?"

I laugh, "I know _of_him… he's kind of seeing my friend."

Fir lets out a low whistle, "A merchant's daughter? Quite the catch!"

"Not just any merchant," I clarify, "The apothecary's daughter."

"Her!? She's way too pretty for him!"

I giggle - it feels good to be talking like this with Fir, gossiping like we're almost normal teenagers.

"We used to hunt together, Heath and I," Fir says after a while.

"Hunt?"

"Yeah, beyond the fence."

My eyebrows shoot up – going beyond the fence is extremely dangerous not to mention illegal. Besides being bordered by an electrified fence there's all sorts of wild animals out there.

"Don't give me that look merchant girl, it's tough in the Seam. There's barely enough food to go around."

"So you started hunting?"

"Yeah, puts food on the table. And Heath is really good with a bow."

Well that explains why he's so bulky at least - he was much better fed than most of the Seam. I wonder if Lillian knows about Heath's adventures beyond the fence. Probably not, likely she'd have a heart attack if she did.

"Ever catch anything good?" I say finally.

Fir grins, "All sorts of things. Once we even caught a wild cat." I'd underestimated Fir – he'd be of better use to the Careers than I'd originally thought.

We sit there chatting for a while before we're interrupted by Poppy's snores. "Guess all that crying wore her out," I joke. With her face smoothed of the stress of the day she looks even younger than before.

"It's getting late, we should probably get some sleep. Here, I'll take her to her room," Fir says. He bends down and scoops up Poppy as if she weighed no more than a ragdoll. "Night Maysilee," he says.

"Goodnight."

With everyone gone I realize how tired I am. Hard to believe just this morning I was in my own bed, with my sister. My sister, I think. I feel a lump in the back of my throat and I push the thought of her from my mind. I'm making my way back to my room when I see the black-haired Avox girl from dinner carrying a tray of brandy to Haymitch's room. I feel a flash of anger – as if he really needs more brandy. "Excuse me," I say in my most authoritative tone. "I'll take that to him." The Avox eyes me warily, but before she can react I take the tray from her hands and dismiss her.

I take the tray to the bathroom and dump out the brandy. I refill the glass with water from the tap and knock gently on Haymitch's door. When there's no response I let myself in. "Hello?" I call into the room. I spot Haymitch lying in bed nursing the last drops of brandy from the bottle.

"What're you doing here," he says coldly.

I feel a stab of anger, "Making sure you don't choke on your own vomit," I snap back.

He frowns, "I'm fine."

I sigh and walk over to the bed despite my agitation. "I brought you something," I say.

"Brandy?" He asks hopefully.

"Sit up," I order, sitting on the edge of the bed. He obeys and takes the glass in his hands. He eyes the cup suspiciously. "Don't worry – the games haven't started yet," I joke. He still seems unsure but drinks the water down anyways.

"Thanks Blondie," he says flopping back down. I hate this nickname he's given me. No one in the Seam has blonde hair – it's the marker of a merchant, someone who's been better off since birth. The nickname makes me sound snooty and prissy, which are not adjectives I'd ever use to describe myself.

"What you said to Poppy was mean," I say after a while.

He shuts his eyes and waves a hand lazily in the air, "You say mean, I say truthful. The truth is, we're all going to die."

"No, not all of us. One of us has to win, and why shouldn't it be you or me or Fir or even Poppy?"

Haymitch snorts, "Have you taken a look around you? Look at our mentor – we're screwed, Blondie. District Twelve always loses because they never even give us a chance."

"She's just a kid, Haymitch." I say softly.

"We're all just kids," he spits out.

I know he's right but I dismiss him anyways. "You're drunk," I say.

"Am I?" He seems to ponder this and then smirks, "I hadn't noticed, Blondie."

I grit my teeth, what an insanely uncooperative, sarcastic human being. "My name is Maysilee," I say through clenched teeth. Haymitch opens his mouth to respond but instead gives a low moan. The smirk has been wiped from his face and replaced with a sheen of sweat. Thinking quickly I grab the ice bucket meant to chill the brandy and pour it out. I've barely gotten it empty and shoved under his chin before the vomiting begins. My stomach heaves at the smell but I hold my ground. "Jesus Haymitch, how much did you drink," I exclaim.

"A lot," he groans into the bucket.

After what feels like hours he finally stops throwing up.

"I don't feel so good," he whimpers. He's finally lost the attitude, only took him what, three bottles of brandy?

"You should sleep," I say. I help him get off his shoes and get him settled into bed. Then I call the dark-haired Avox to take away the bucket. She gives me a wide-eyed look when she enters the room. "No more brandy for him," I tell her sternly. She gives me a nod to let me know she understands. When she leaves the room I sit on the side of the bed watching Haymitch warily. His breathing has begun to slow but I decide to stick around a little longer, just to make sure he's okay.

The whole thing has left my feeling very drained. Even though Maybelle has put me through similar situations after some celebrations never quite like this. As my competitor maybe I should've just left him to drink himself into a pool of oblivion. I quickly shake that thought from my mind. Even though I want to be a contender in the Games I don't want to become cruel to win. I know if it comes down to it I will have to kill but I will never resort to torture like the Careers do. No, only swift deaths, get in and get out. With that thought in mind I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

**HAYMITCH**

Too bright. Everything is too bright. My tongue feels like sandpaper in my mouth and I groan as the ceiling spins uncomfortably. I sit up and spot a glass of water on the bedside table. I chug it gratefully and turn my attention the disastrous state of my room – discarded dishes, empty bottles, and clothes strewn everywhere. As I'm debating whether to call the Avox I see blonde hair fanned across a pillow. From the evenness of her breathing she must be still asleep. I press my finger to my temple as memories from last night come trickling back, like ill-fitting puzzle pieces. A fight, a lot of brandy, an angry Fir and a very unimpressed Maysilee. I can't quite remember how she wound up here though. I wonder if we…

A sharp rap at the door interrupts my thoughts. "Breakfast time," trills Eustachia Cashew. At that Maysilee's eyes flutter open and she sits up sleepily. When the duvet falls back I'm relieved to see she's completely clothed. That's right, I remember she came in later and brought me water.

She rubs her eyes, looking disoriented, "I must've fallen asleep here," she mumbles.

She looks so embarrassed and self-conscious I can't resist. "I had a great time last night," I say, lowering my voice in mock seduction.

The reaction is instantaneous - she flushes from her chest to the roots of her hair. "As if," she sputters, leaping up. She takes a moment to collect herself as she puts on her shoes. "Yes, watching you vomit for hours was the absolute highlight of my night." I frown; I don't remember that part. "And you're welcome by the way," she snaps as she lets herself out of my room. I wince at the sound of the slamming door. Clearly Blondie is not a morning person.

I drag myself to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. I look just as horrible as I feel. The skin under my eyes is bruised and blue. My dark curls are wild and I'm still wearing last night's clothes. I strip down and turn on the shower. Within seconds the smell of last nights alcohol is eradicated by bubbly scented soaps. The cold water helps me clear my head and I start to feel more like myself. I am never drinking again, I think with a shake of my head. I get out of the shower and throw on some clothes I find in one of the drawers.

Everyone's already seated at the table when I arrive. I saunter in coolly as if that might undo the events of last night. Maysilee doesn't even look up from her plate when I walk in, and instead pretends to be fascinated with pushing around a blueberry with her fork. Poppy's eyes are puffy and red, but yesterday's shaking has been brought down to a slight tremor. She seems to be sticking especially close to Fir today who in turn watches her protectively. I shake my head - they're foolish to get attached to each other. With that I brush the thought of Maysilee and her niceties from my mind. I take a seat next to Fir who's wolfing down a plate of strawberries topped with cream. From the looks of the dishes piled around him he's already on his fourth plate of food. Seam kids like us could probably stand to gain a few extra pounds anyways. He gives me a wary look and studies me for a moment. Eventually he passes me a crescent shaped pastry drizzled in chocolate. "You have to try these," he tells me, and I know I've been forgiven.

After stuffing myself with three bowls of scrambled eggs, five pastries, a cup of hot chocolate, two plates of ham drizzled in maple syrup and countless strips of bacon I lean back in contentment. The windows go dark and I realize we must be approaching the Capitol. When we finally emerge from the darkness the world outside has transformed. Gone are the tangled forests and golden fields of wheat. Instead we are in a huge city encased by towering buildings that reflect the sun in rainbow hues. Strange looking people bustle around in wild wigs and even wilder clothing. They're dressed so oddly they make Eustacia look almost normal. Many stop and wave in excitement at seeing a tribute train roll into the city. I almost laugh at how ridiculous they all are in their silly little hats and puffed up hair. I shake my head; it's hard to be angry at a group of people that are so oblivious.

Eustacia gives an excited clap of her hands, "My darlings, we have arrived," she squeals. "Welcome to the Capitol."


	4. Chapter 4: Shorts & Soot

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**MAYSILEE**

"I am not wearing that," I say indignantly. My stylist, Fuschia, gives me an exasperated look and sighs. We've been having the same argument for over an hour. After a rub down from my prep team I was already feeling agitated. My skin felt raw from all the waxing and tweezing, and my head was pounding from listening to the high-pitched trills of their voices.

Fuschia had circled my naked form like a vulture. She examined my body critically, making general clicks of disapproval now and then. Finally she had stopped and declared in a nasally voice, "You're too skinny, your eyes are too close together and have you ever heard of conditioner?!" I stared at her in disbelief, "I guess you'll have to do," she pouted. And that was my first impression. Needless to say I wasn't feeling overly co-operative, especially when her mission was to make me prance around half-naked in front of all of Panem.

"You are being so frustrating," Fuschia whines.

"Excuse me if I want to end this day with a little dignity," I fume.

She rolls her eyes, "I'm trying to make you look better."

Better held an entirely different meaning to Fuschia than it did to me. Apparently her idea of improvement was me wearing a tattered black skirt paired with a small strip of black fabric extending across my chest. Any bare skin would be covered in sparkly black soot, which she tried to assure me was just like wearing clothes. The whole outfit would be topped off with a headlamp, pickaxe, and metallic silver suspenders.

"I know you grew up in the slums or whatever but that's what I'm here for – to teach you a little class." Her words hit me like a slap, and I feel my hands ball into fists.

"Forget it," I hiss to her. I yank the fabric she was holding out of her palms and head for the door.

"Hey! I'm not done!" she calls shrilly.

"Yes, you are." I answer coldly, stepping onto the elevator.

I head to the bottom level of the Remake center. It takes me a second to spot Poppy and Fir – in their black outfits they blend in like shadows. The two of them have already taken their soot out of the pouches and begun flinging them at each other. Poppy is wearing a tight black dress that's been fitted to give curves to her small frame. A large tool belt hangs off her waist, and she's sporting tall black boots with fishnet stockings. Fir's chest is bare, and on the bottom he's wearing ripped black pants with work boots. Both of them are wearing garish headlamps and strategically placed black soot. By the time I reach them Poppy is breathless with laughter.

"Isn't that soot supposed to be for the parade?" I ask.

Fir shoots me a lopsided grin, "We may have gotten a little carried away."

I laugh. "I'm liking this look," I say tapping his helmet. "I mean it's a little too conservative for my taste you should show a little more skin," I joke.

He laughs and tosses some soot at me. I realize with a pang that I like Fir and Poppy. I don't want either of them to die, and I can't feel that under different circumstances we might have even been friends. I manage to push my discomfort aside by scoping out the competition. My eyes fall on the tributes of District Ten. I notice a tiny girl tribute, with light brown hair twisted into two braids. Her nose is dotted with freckles and she's sporting a cowboy hat with boots that looks way too big for her. I watch as stands on her tiptoes to adjust the collar of a red-haired boy tribute. He's tall and lanky, with a nose slightly too big for his freckled face. I skip over the rest of the districts with little interest until I reach District One and Two, two of the three Career districts. Unsurprisingly both districts have grouped together talking among themselves as if they don't have a care in the world. Although to their credit they probably don't - there's only going to be one winner and being a Career means the odds are in their favor. I'm just about to analyze each of them when Fir nudges me.

"Oh my gosh… Is that…" starts Poppy in disbelief.

I follow her gaze to the entrance of the Remake Center and nearly choke. Haymitch, wearing the tiniest black shorts I've ever seen in my life. He looks absolutely miserable as his stylist straps on the same headlamp all of us are wearing and hands him a pick-axe. I try to hold it together when he approaches us, but by the time he arrives we're all shaking with laughter. Haymitch shoots me a scowl. "I'm sorry," I gasp, "You just look so…"

"Stupid!" Fir finishes, as I erupt in a second wave of laughter.

Haymitch's scowl deepens, "Laugh it up Blondie, you look even worse than me," he snarls.

I just shake my head and wipe away tears of laughter. Haymitch glares at me before storming away in fury. Poppy giggles, "He takes himself too seriously if you ask me."

"What's so funny?" I hear a voice purr. I whip around and come face to face with two girl tributes from District One and Two.

"Coming from District Twelve I wouldn't think you'd have much to laugh at. I mean just look at you," smirks District Two.

I can tell who they are just from their costumes. The girl from District One is in a gorgeous white dress embedded with jewels that shimmer with rainbow colored beams of light every time she moves. She reminds me of a porcelain doll I had when I was younger before Maybelle accidentally shattered half it's face. Her skin is a creamy ivory and her long white-blonde hair tumbles in waves. She has a pert nose with a small pink mouth and large blue eyes. She looks positively angelic and if she wasn't a Career I might be convinced. Her District Two friend looks far more lethal. She has a wild mane of dark auburn hair, a red colour almost as deep as blood. Her green eyes are feral and she has the coiled muscles of a wild cat. "Can I help you," I say coldly.

District Two grins, "Such spirit! It'll make breaking you so much better." I feel a cold shiver run up my spine.

District One doesn't seem interested in taunting me, she's too busy eyeing up Fir. She places a well-manicured hand on his bicep and shakes her curls. "Such potential," she says in a soft tinkly voice. "It'd be such a shame to waste it," she purrs, shooting Poppy and I a pointed look. It's just like the Careers to make you feel inadequate and afraid without ever even addressing you directly. Fir shrugs off her hand and steps a little closer to me. District One seems a little surprised, but not exactly insulted. Her lips curl into a half smile, "You'll come around. Let's go Ember." I watch tensely as the two of them saunter away. Watching their ease and grade you'd think we were about to enter a beauty competition not a fight to the death.

"They're just trying to intimidate you," Fir says when they're out of earshot.

I take in a shaky breath, "Well, it worked." I feel all the good feelings from earlier melting away and the pressure of the Games coming back full force. We climb into our chariot just as District 11 rolls out. Our prep teams babble words of encouragement and I notice that Fuschia is strangely absent. I push away a pang of guilt – everything I said to her was true.

I'm startled by the intensity of the crowd when we enter the city. The place is packed with Capitol citizens chanting for their districts. I try not to wince when I catch a glimpse of myself on a large television screen. I look grotesque with streaks of soot down my face. Thankfully the crowd cheers for us anyways, and shouts for District Twelve's victory ring through the air. Their cheers give me encouragement and I pull out my bag of sparkly soot and throw fistfuls of it into the crowd like Fuschia told me too. I even remember to smile and wave despite my earlier confrontation with the Career girls.

Just as I'm beginning to enjoy myself the music ends abruptly and our chariot skids to a halt in front of President Snow's mansion. The sight is breath taking, and I even through my disdain I can appreciate the beauty of long stemmed roses climbing up white marble pillars. President Snow is not an attractive man. He is tall and thin with wisps of brown hair striped with white. When he opens his mouth to give he official welcome he seems to almost hiss his words, like a snake.

I stare at his mouth, oddly hypnotized by his emotionless speech, until the national anthem plays. Our chariot lurches to a start and we circle the City Center one more time before pulling into the Training Center.


	5. Chapter 5: Everyone's Afraid of Death

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**HAYMITCH**

The first thing I did when we got back to our quarters was rip off my ridiculous shorts and shove them in the trash compactor. After an hour of struggling with the automatic buttons on the shower panel, I finally give up and scrub the soot off my face with a hand towel. The end result isn't great but it's presentable. I'm just in the middle of wrangling my curls when Eustacia knocks at the door. "Dinner time!" she trills. I struggle with the buttons on the closet panel and after a great effort I finally manage to get it to deliver an outfit I like.

When I arrive the dining room is stacked with food. A fat roasted ham sits in the center of the table, slathered in honey-mustard sauce. There are piles of assorted jellies, some as bright as Eustacia's hair, and others a deep cranberry red. In the corner of the room a chocolate fountain trickles beside platters of ripe fruit. Eustacia, Grandis and the other Tributes are already sitting at the table. "It's not kind to make people wait, Haymitch," scolds Eustacia.

"I couldn't figure out all those damn buttons," I mutter. She stares at me with crossed arms. "Well you could have started without me."

Eustacia gapes at me like I've grown three heads, "That would be incredibly rude! No, in the Capitol we are accustomed to a standard of manners I expect you all to uphold." She turns to Grandis as if for support but his eyes are glassy and distant. She gives an exasperated sigh, "You may begin."

I take a seat next to Maysilee and begin loading my plate with Capitol delicacies as Avoxes hand out flutes of wine and champagne. I think about the last time I tried wine and wince, reaching for the champagne. It's bubbly and fruity, but it makes my head feel light and dizzy. It's not as effective as the wine or brandy or nearly as good. Dinner is uneventful. Eustacia trills on about trivial details while Grandis picks apart his dinner slowly and methodically. It appears he's had his dose of morphling for the day. Fir, Poppy and Maysilee are laughing about something or another, looking especially chummy. I wonder when they all became friends; just yesterday it seemed like no one would even look at each other.

Finally we've stuffed ourselves to our hearts content and the Avoxs sweep our dishes away. "You may be excused," Eustacia says, "There's an entertainment room next door you might find to amuse yourselves before bed. But don't stay up too late - we've got a long day of training ahead of us!" I hate the way she says "we" as if she's the one preparing for her death.

The entertainment room is absolutely enormous, with high ceilings and zebra print walls. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with paperbacks and games. There's a plasma TV in the corner with a plushy couch and four beanbag chairs in various neon colours. The décor is a little tacky, but then again so is everything else in the Capitol. "Wow," Poppy breathes. "Come on, let's play a game," she chirps excitedly, pulling at Maysilee and Fir. The three of them scamper off and start exploring the collection while I peruse the shelves. Most of the books sound like horrible Capitol propaganda with names like How the Capitol Came to Power and The Wonders of the Hunger Games but a faded blue book catches my eye. The Twelve Districts of Panem, it reads. I grab the book and settle into a fluorescent yellow beanbag chair.

I've just gotten to District Four when I feel the chair shift beside me. It's Fir. "Isn't she pretty," he comments wistfully.

I look up from my book and follow his gaze, "Who?" I ask stupidly.

"Maysilee." I give a snort. "You don't agree?" he asks. I glance at Blondie, she's sitting on a puffy magenta couch across the room laughing at something on the TV with Poppy. I frown when I realize it's a recap of the Parade starring me in my short shorts.

"No." I say quickly.

"I do," he says with a sigh. I glance up again. She's obviously just showered the soot out of her hair as it falls down her shoulders in a golden curtain. Her bright blue eyes are animated as she chatters excitedly with Poppy. I suppose she probably would be pretty if she weren't such a pain in the ass. "It's funny, I always assumed the merchant girls would be… I don't know snobby I guess. But Maysilee's not like that at all – she's nice." Fir continues.

I squint at him, "Do you like her or something?" The tips of Fir's ears turn bright red and he stares at the pattern of the chair with intense fascination. He ignores the question.

"I think the Careers want me to join them,"

I raise on eyebrow, "And?"

"And what, I could never be like them - you know how awful they are," Fir says with disgust.

"I also know they tend to win."

He shakes his head, "I think I'll take my chances with Poppy and Maysilee."

"Wait you're forming an alliance with those two?" I scoff. I know Maysilee's clever, but she doesn't seem particularly strong. As for Poppy, well she's been nothing but a shaking mess this entire time. I'd be impressed if she managed to score higher than a two in training. I can't imagine how Fir, someone so strong even the Careers take notice, could benefit from that alliance.

"Well not officially, but I like them so why not," he says sheepishly, staring at his large palms.

I almost groan out loud "That's even worse – what if you have to be the one to kill them."

He looks at me like I'm deranged. "Why would I ever do that?"

"There can only be one winner. Everyone knows that - this should be drilled into your head by now."

He peers at me. "I'm not afraid of death, Haymitch."

"Everyone's afraid of death." I respond.

He shakes his head, "Not me. I'd rather die a good person than a Career." He gives me a pat on the back before leaving to join the girls on the couch. He sits beside Poppy and she curls into him like a kitten, while Maysilee gives him a happy smile. Watching this trio of misfit friends for a second, a split second, I feel a pang of jealousy.


	6. Chapter 6: First Day of Training

**CHAPTER SIX**

**MAYSILEE**

The training room is on the lower level of the building. For the first time since arriving in the Capitol, I don't feel like I'm in the midst of a candy factory explosion. It's like all the life has been sucked out of the room, leaving behind only stretching windowless gray walls. I pull a little at the collar of my training suit, feeling slightly claustrophobic. Unlike the rest of the Capitol, the gymnasium is no nonsense. There are stations set up along the room, many equipped with some dangerously sharp weapons. My stomach flutters uncomfortably – breakfast hadn't gone down very well. Not even fluffy Capitol eggs could calm my nerves that morning. Eustacia had been making pointed comments about sponsors while Grandis brought a tremoring coffee mug to his mouth. I suppose at that point the other tributes were going over their training strategies in the penthouses below us, while our mentor remained aloof and vacant.

"We should stick together," Fir said, realizing Grandis would be no help. From across the table Haymitch gave a snort. "All the other districts will be doing that same. It's a big game this year, we need to have each other's backs." I focused on spreading raspberry jam on a slice of toast. A glob of bright red jelly fell from my butter knife and I felt my stomach heave. It looked like blood. "What do you think Maysilee," Fir said, looking at me with earnest eyes.

I thought that he could win the games if he wanted to. I thought we'd only weigh him down. I thought that he should join the Careers if he was ever going to have a shot. I thought a lot of things, but I said none of them. Instead I shrugged, "Couldn't hurt."

Now in the training room I was grateful for Fir's suggestion. I flick my attention back to the muscular head trainer. She's rattling off instructions about our training schedule. We're free to roam from station to station, practicing survival skills or fighting techniques as we wish. I spot a horrifyingly large mace across the room and feel my stomach turn. I can't even imagine holding it let alone using it to hurt anyone. The Careers on the other hand are eyeing the weapons with what could only be described as hunger. I swear District One is one move short of licking her lips. At least the tiny girl from District Ten looks as sick as I feel, nudging her redheaded friend at the sight of the lethal looking spears at station four. The head trainer finishes up her speech with a clipped warning that none of us to are engage in combat. Makes sense – if there's no cameras around to catch a fight did it really happen?

Within seconds of being dismissed Haymitch has already sauntered off. I feel a stab of betrayal. _So much for sticking together, _I think_._ "So where should we start?" asks Fir. "I was thinking station six." I glance over there, where swords the length of my torso lined the wall. Poppy's face turns a slight shade of green and I feel inclined to agree.

"Maybe we should start smaller, like the knot station."

"Oh, okay," Fir says sounding somewhat disappointed.

I instantly feel comfortable at station twelve. It turns out Poppy is a natural, her nimble fingers weaving baskets and twisting rope in no time flat. I'm not particularly good at knots, but we're the only tributes at this station and from this corner of the room I can scope out my competition with a fair bit of subtlety.

Fir was right – most of the Districts are sticking together. Four tributes with coffee-coloured skin circle around the plant survival skill station. Their training suits are marked with deep red elevens, and I guess they must be from the agriculture district. My eyes fall on one of the girl tributes. She's distanced herself from the other three, who seem to be chattering away. She's absolutely stunning, her skin a smooth mocha brown and dark hair pulled into a tight bun. I can tell from the tight line of her lips that she's here to win.

District One is at the knife throwing station, her white blonde hair twisted in an elegant knot on the top of her head. My heart sinks when I note that not only is she better fed than me, but her body is wrapped with thick cords of muscles. I flinch when she sends a knife straight into her target's heart, biceps straining.

"Nice shot Couture," purrs her sidekick, Ember. Ember's hair is wild and untamed, as red as tendrils of fire licking the side of her face. Her face is stretched into a wide Cheshire Cat grin as she throws her knife into the target's eye. The two of them high-five, and Couture viciously yanks her knife back out of the target.

After wrestling with knots for most of the morning, we finally break for lunch. The forty-eight of us file into the dining room adjacent to the training room. It's easy to see the alliances that have already been formed. The Careers load up their plates and savagely rip into their bread, hooting and hollering. The boy from District Two whispers seductively into Couture's ear and she lets out a tinkling laugh. Looking at them you'd think they were on vacation, not in a competition to the death.

The other tributes are not so raucous. Most of the districts sit together at in silence, shoulders slumped and heads down. I meet the eyes of the District Ten girl and she waves a friendly hello. Today her hair is parted into two braids on the side of her head, tied with thin red ribbons. She waves us over enthusiastically. "Should we go?" asks Poppy timidly.

"I don't see why not," I say. We bring our plates to the far corner where the two District Ten tributes are sitting.

"The rest of out district abandoned us," says the girl, pulling a face. "They're such downers." She has a slight twang to her voice I can't quite place.

"To be honest I think Aimee here was starting to drive them a little nuts. The girl can't keep her mouth shut for two seconds," laughs the redheaded boy. He has the same freckles as Aimee, and a nose too large for his face. Aimee swats him but doesn't look too offended.

She extends her hand to us, "I'm Aimee, and this is Trexler."

"Maysilee," I say shaking her hand. It's as small as the rest of her, but surprisingly rough with calluses. "This is Fir and Poppy."

"Where's your fourth?" asks Trexler. Good question, now that I think of it I hadn't seen Haymitch all day.

"Being anti-social," says Fir pointing out Haymitch through the rows of tables. He's on the farthest outskirts of the room.

"Oh he's with Thistle!" says Aimee gesturing to the lithe caramel skinned girl at the edge of the table. I recognize her as the unfriendly District Eleven tribute I'd seen earlier at the plant station. The two of them appear to be eating in silence, which I'm sure Haymitch appreciates. "We spent some time with her at station thirteen," Aimee says. "She can be a bit… prickly."

Trexler snorts at the pun, dropping the roll he was holding. "Good one, Aims."

I glance between the two of them. "Did you know each other in your district?" I ask curiously.

"Best friends since birth!" Aimee chirps with a grin. Trexler gives her a look that very plainly says "best friend" is not an accurate description of their relationship.

"Sorry for your bad luck," mutters Poppy sympathetically.

Aimee gives her a blank look, "What do you mean?"

Poppy flushes, "Well you know… because the… you know…" she makes a slash motion with her finger against her pale throat.

"Oh," Aimee says, taken aback. "Well, I couldn't have asked for a better ally - I know he'll have my back," she slaps Trexler high-five. I don't doubt it, while lanky and awkward I can tell Trexler would fight anyone who tried to hurt Aimee to the death.

"I've just been dyyyyin' to meet someone from the other Districts!" she says with a drawl. Funny choice of words, I think. "So far no one's been too friendly." Trexler rolls his eyes, at least he seems to know how oblivious his partner comes off. "Maybe you could tell us a bit about District Twelve," she chirps cheerfully. We spend the rest of lunch swapping stories. Trexler tells a funny story about one of their calves who followed him around like a dog. In turn Fir chatters on about the coal mines, while I tell them about my parents' candy shop. They both prove good listeners and I'm almost sorry when lunch is over.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. We take on the plant survival station before moving on to healing. Fir's actually pretty decent at identifying plants - must be the time he spent hunting with Heath beyond the fence. At the end of the day I spot Haymitch completing an expert snare with his patent smirk. I feel a streak of irritation. Hadn't we made plans to stick together? We could have used his help with snares, but instead he wanted to be cool and aloof. I'm not sure why his abandonment bothers me so much but it does.

When the day's finally done I half drag myself to my room and collapse into bed. I don't even have time to think about the events of today before sleep pulls me under.


	7. Chapter 7: The Brandy Police

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**HAYMITCH**

Blondie woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She'd shown up to dinner flustered and cranky, ignoring Eustacia's looks of disapproval. Not even Poppy and Fir seemed to be making any impact on her mood. "How was training?" asks Eustacia, taking a delicate sip of wine.

"Good," offers Fir. "Poppy, Maysilee and I learned a lot about plants."

Eustacia arches an eyebrow, "Oh? And where were you Haymitch?"

Fir's about to cover for my absenteeism when Maysilee jumps in. "Oh, he's far too good to spend time with the likes of us, Eustachia."

"What?" I ask surprised.

"We'd only weigh him down I'm sure," she continues, ignoring me. Where was this coming from?

I struggle to keep my tone neutral, "I wanted to branch out."

"Oh whatever, just admit it, you didn't want to be with us,"

"No I didn't," I say matter-of-factly.

"Maybe it's because you don't care about winning," she says with an edge to her voice I've never heard before. "I bet there's no one at home you even care about. But then again maybe I'm wrong and you do want to live because you sure do love yourself."

"That's not fair, Maysilee," Fir mutters but she shoots him a glare and he shuts up.

"Excuse me," she says throwing down her napkin and leaving the table.

I watch her retreating form in stunned silence. "Women," I say eventually with an eye roll, a feeble attempt at recovery. But truthfully her words slapped me like a whip, and I feel slightly pained. The rest of dinner is awkward and silent, with Maysilee's words hanging uncomfortably in the air.

Somehow I managed to sit through an entire dinner, and return to my room. Blondie's words dig in, and I resent myself for letting some stupid little girl get under my skin. At that moment there's nothing I wouldn't give to feel the reassurance of Grey's arms around me.

Don't think about her, I scold myself.

What I really need is something to stifle the memories and blot out the pain. Our rooms are equipped with machinery that sends us any food we wish, piping hot and ready. I wonder if they would send alcohol too. Tentatively I reach for the mouthpiece, "Brandy" I command. For a moment nothing happens, but just when I'm about to give up the machine sputters out a smooth bottle of brandy. I pop open the bottle and take a long swig. The golden liquid has a pleasant burn on the way down, and I can feel its warmth nestling in my chest. Instantly I feel much better as the memories of today slip farther and farther away.

There's a knock at the door and I stumble to yank it open. I frown, "Blondie?"

"I'm sorry about dinner," she says, sweeping past me and inviting herself in. I shut the door with a sigh – so much for peace and quiet. "I don't know you, and I shouldn't have –" she stops when she spots the bottle on the nightstand. "Are you drinking again?" she says in disbelief.

I snort, "Who are you, the brandy police?"

"Not your best line Haymitch."

She heads over to the stand and grabs the bottle. I think she's going to chuck it in the trash compactor when she takes a deep swig. Her face contorts a second later and she almost spews it out. "This is disgusting!" she gags, "Ugh, it tastes like disinfectant."

I smirk, "Well no one told you to drink it." She gives me a defiant look and takes another pull of the bottle. This time she manages to keep it all down without even flinching. I shrug, "Impressive."

"I've never had alcohol before." She says sitting on the bed and rolling the bottle between her palms. "My sister was always the trouble maker. I was the good kid." She gets a faraway look in her eyes. "Guess that doesn't matter anymore."

"Being good won't get you very far in the Games anyways." That seems to make her feel a little better and she gives a small smile. For a second I see what Fir was talking about. Her eyes are the bright blue of the sky at midday and her hair tumbles like cornsilk. I almost want to reach out and touch it but I keep my arm stiffly by my side.

"How come you don't want to be our friend, Haymitch," she asks, her face turning serious.

"I don't want to be anyone's friend," I reply reaching for the bottle. "Don't take it personally."

She frowns, "We could help each other though."

"And then what? We're the last two and I have to kill you."

"Well, maybe I'll kill you," she jokes. I take another swig to avoid answering. "Aimee and Trexler don't seem to have that problem."

I squint at her bewildered, "Who?" She blushes and I realize she's talking about the other tributes. "You learned their names," I say, aghast.

"So?"

"So I thought you were smarter than that! It'll be so much harder to kill them when you know them by name."

"Maybe I won't have to. Maybe someone else will," she responds, sounding unconvinced.

I shake my head, "That's a lot of maybes, Blondie."

"Don't call me that," she says fiercely.

"Why not? You're blonde aren't you," I argue, tugging on a strand of her hair.

She smacks my hand away, "That's not the way you say it. Like you I think I act like I'm better than you."

"Well don't you?"

"No, I don't! And even if I did what does it matter. In the end poor or rich we still get reaped in the same pool and we still die in the same games."

"Despite what you think, I don't plan on dying," I pause for a moment, contemplating. "You were wrong today you know. There are people I – Well, people I want to go back to."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

"So, oh great one, what's your angle for the interviews? Wait let me guess, you're going to be arrogant but cool."

I snap my fingers. "Bingo! What about you?"

"I'm not sure… to be honest I'm kind of afraid of public speaking."

"You? But you're so… bossy."

"Hey!" Maysilee says indignantly

"Don't worry, some boys find it charming," I say smoothly, knowing she blushes easy.

As expected her face flushes. "What boys?"

"Oh, I can name a few."

"So name a few."

"Tall, lots of muscles, rhymes with Mir?" Her face flushes again, but she looks surprised.

"He does not," she sputters. "Not like it matters."

"Why not?"

"You know why not! The whole fight to the death think might but a little strain on a relationship don't you think?"

I chortle. Funny, she's kind of funny. I'll just chalk that humor up to the brandy. "Maybe if there were no Games," she muses.

"But there are."

"But what if there weren't."

"But there are."

"You have no imagination," she says in exasperation.

"Okay fine. If there weren't I'd be at home with my little brother. My mom would make us food, then I'd go over to my girl's house."

"Hmmm… maybe I'd marry Fir." We both start laughing at that point, warm and happy from the brandy. For long, dangerous time I let myself play what if with Maysilee. In her fantasy her and Fir took over her parent's candy shop with their four kids. I lived in a big house with Grey and our two kids; and without the looming presence of the Games, we'd never have to know the pain of losing them.


	8. Chapter 8: Why Do You Care?

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**MAYSILEE**

I'm awakened by the fierce ache of thirst in the back of my throat.

Water, I need water.

I stumble my way to the bathroom and put my mouth to the tap. I can feel the dull thud as the water hits the bottom of my empty stomach. The relief is almost instantaneous, and I pad my way back to the bedroom.

Haymitch looks so much younger with the lines smoothed out of his face. It's bizarre to see his trademark smirk slack with sleep. I try to slip back in as quietly as possible but his eyes flicker open anyways. "Morning," he mumbles after a beat.

I had a great time last night," I tease, remembering the last time I woke up next to him. I'm rewarded with a lazy smile and I feel warmth curling in the pit of my stomach.

Haymitch glances at the clock, "We have breakfast in an hour and then more training."

"I don't want to think about training, or anything right now." I bite my lip, I don't want our game of what if to end so soon. "Can we just stay here for a bit."

He takes so long to answer I think he fell back asleep. But finally, he responds, "Sure." We stay like that, side by side in silence until Eustacia summons us to breakfast. She purses her lips in disapproval when we both file out of the room but doesn't make any comment.

By ten we're in the training room with the other tributes. Aimee greets me with a smile before looping her arm through Trexler's and dragging him off to one of the stations. I think about Haymitch's horror upon realizing I'd learned their names. With a pang I realize he was right – there's no way I could ever kill either of them. I really do suck at this.

I turn to Haymitch, "Where should we start today?"

"We?"

"Yeah, we. I mean, you're coming with us right?"

He smirks at me, "Why would I do that?"

"Because I thought…" I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends.

"You thought wrong," retorts Haymitch, as if reading my thoughts. I feel like I've been stabbed in the back and it's all I can do to stop myself from tackling him. But he saunters off to station eight, and Poppy pulls me towards station three.

"Since we spent all of yesterday on survival skills we should practice some combat skills today," suggests Fir.

It's no surprise that Fir is a natural. He throws a straight bulls eye with nearly every spear, mace and knife there is. Poppy and I are having slightly more trouble, and I go to retrieve the knife that fell inches in front of the target. I can't even hit the damn thing. As I bend down I hear a knife slice through the air and hit the wall right where my head had been only two seconds before. "Oops," I hear Couture say, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "My blade slipped," she coos apologetically to the trainer.

I feel molten rage in the pit of my stomach. "You did that on purpose," I growl.

Her grin widens, "Oh yeah? Prove it." Her tone is so arrogant I automatically think of Haymitch, with his easy smirk when he walked away from me today. Both of them are cut from the same cloth, threatening and bullying before we've even stepped foot in the arena. The trainer nods and turns away, having lost interest in our little spat. Couture gives me a satisfied grin and begins to walk away. Before I can think I grip the handle of my blade and whip it past the side of her head. She gives a yelp as the knife brushes past her hair and sticks in the wall in front of her.

"Oops," I say flatly.

At this point the other tributes have stopped to watch our little drama unfold. Couture whips around, rage contorting her face. "You'll pay for that Twelve," she screeches. She yanks the knife out of the wall and starts towards me. With panic I realize that was the only knife I had on me. How pathetic is it that I'm going to die before I even get to the arena.

"Hey back off," snarls Haymitch stepping between us. I hadn't even heard him come up beside me.

"Excuse me?" Couture says with bemusement.

He steps closer, "Back. Off."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been nothing but nice." She leans in closer and her sickly sweet perfume tickles my nose. "It's her that's the problem," she says, jutting her chin towards me.

"What's your name," asks Haymitch after a beat, his voice a dangerous calm. Couture doesn't seem to notice - she wears the expression of a cat playing with a mouse.

"Couture. What's it to you?"

"Because,_ Couture_," he says, emphasizing the ridiculous name, "I want to know your name before I kill you," A hush falls through the room, and I can tell everyone's eyes are on us. Couture's mouth forms a perfect pink o in surprise. "

"What did you just say to me?"

"Hey! No tribute combat until the Games," The trainer calls, finally intervening.

"Fine," Couture spits. "But there will be no trainers to stop me in the arena." All pretense of innocence has been dropped from her voice so all that's left is pure venom. She stalks back to her Career pack and I feel a shiver as I realize what I've just done. I've made myself a target.

I turn to walk away when Haymitch grabs my arm. "Why would you do that," he hisses, "You just made yourself enemy number one."

Oh, so now he wants to speak to me. I'm so tired of his mixed messages. One minute we're friends, the next he refuses to look at me and now he's defending me. "Why do you care," I snap, yanking my arm back. "No one told you to step in be a hero."

"She would've killed you, I just saved your ass!"

"Why did you even bother? It's not exactly like you care so you should just –" Haymitch's gray eyes harden. His jaw sets and the gravity of my mistake dawns on me. "Haymitch, I didn't mean –"

"I know exactly what you meant," he spits. "You're right, I don't care. Good luck Maysilee." With that he whips around and walks off with clenched fists.


	9. Chapter 9: Red Paint & Rankings

**CHAPTER NINE **

**HAYMITCH**

After our spat, Maysilee and I had barely spoken to each other. I'd stalked off to some survival station and Fir scampered to do damage control with Blondie. I'm not sure what she told him but he shot me an apologetic look before taking on the snare station with her and Poppy. The rest of training passed by quickly. I kept my distance from the Careers and my own district.

At lunch I sat on the outskirts of the room with a dark-skinned girl from District Eleven. Thankfully, she never spoke. I respected her cold, uncaring demeanor. I liked her just enough to sit with her, but not so much that I couldn't kill her.

On the third day of training, district-by-district, boy then girl we are called out of lunch to perform for the Gamemakers. The dining hall slowly empties and eventually Fir and Poppy are summoned for their sessions, leaving just me and Blondie.

"Good luck," she says, staring at her palms.

"You too." The unfortunate thing is I actually mean it. I don't especially want Maysilee to die and in the Hunger Games that might present a problem. I had to get home to my mom and Sage and Grey and Silver. I couldn't let some little blonde girl distract me from that. Thanks to her I'd already made a huge mistake and ended up on the Career's hit list.

"I'm sorry for the –"

"Don't," I say, cutting her off. "Let's not pretend we're friends." The words came out harsher than I intended and Maysilee looks wounded. The nicer she is the harder it will be if it comes down to us, I remind myself. With forty-eight of us the odds are doubtful, but I wouldn't put it past the Gamemakers to manipulate the situation for maximum drama.

"Alright," she says looking a little pained.

Luckily we don't have to sit in awkward silence for long before my name is called.

The smell of roasted pork and alcohol assaults me when I enter the training room. Right away I can tell the Gamemakers have been here too long and gotten too drunk. Half of them are singing drinking songs while the other half pick at the final bits of an extravagant buffet – either way they're not paying any attention to me.

I pick up a blade – I've always been handy with knives. I head to the target area where human-shaped punching bags strung up from the rafters. I know from earlier practice they have the texture of human skin to mimic the way a knife would actually stick. I take a deep breath and whip my knife at the target. It misses miserably and the Gamemakers burst out laughing. I guess they'd been paying more attention than I'd thought.

I feel a murderous rage bloom in my chest - I should knife every pathetic drunkard here. I'm about to fight to the death on live television for their entertainment – the least they could do was give me a chance. I grip the handle of the blade and almost throw it into the crowd when I'm struck with a thought. Sage had insisted I'd win because I'm smart and quick but here I was about to blow my shot by doing something that wasn't very smart at all. I grit my teeth and sheath the blade.

_Think, think, _I tell myself. _What will make them pay attention?_

Then I spot it. There are packets of paint at the camouflage station; muddy browns, soft yellows and of course blood red. I slip over to the station and load up on red paints. The Gamemakers are so busy with each other they don't even notice me stuff the packets into core areas of the target. I put a few in the head and a couple in the core before arranging the targets into a maze of dark bodies.

"Ahem," I say loudly.

Only a few Gamemakers look up, but that's all I need. I unsheathe the blade and take a run at the first target. I give it a sharp kick to the core and when it swings towards me I duck and plunge my blade into its would-be eye. Red begins to spurt from the hole and I hear a gasp from the Gamemaker's table. I guess I finally have their attention. I run at the next target, plunging the blade into its heart with a twist before yanking it out. I weave my way through the targets, cutting and maiming while trying not to slip on the surprisingly realistic red paint.

I knock down the last target with a sharp kick to the head and a knife to the gut. Only then do I dare look up and survey the scene. The floor is strewn with bits and pieces of the targets. They look eerily similar to dead bodies lying in pools of blood, with amputated limbs and slit throats. The Gamemakers are silent for the first time since I entered the room. Their expressions are a mixed bag of horror and awe. I feel myself smile, and without waiting for them to react I walk out the door.

Later that evening after dinner, we pour into the entertainment room to watch the announcement of our scores.

Maysilee, Fir and Poppy flop together on the neon yellow couch. Fir leaves me a spot but I sink into a tiger-print beanbag chair instead. The seal of Panem stretches across the television and Eustacia squeals. "This is so exciting!"

The first few tributes are Careers, who naturally rank eight and above. I have to resist from cringing when Couture's face lights up the screen next to a spinning nine. I could kick myself for being so stupid. As much as I hated to admit anyone named something as ridiculous as "Couture" could beat me, she was undeniably stronger and disturbingly lethal with an axe.

What possessed me to piss off District One? Oh right, a little blonde twit with absolutely no gratitude. I hear her words echoing in my head, _No one told you to step in and be a hero. _She was right; I'd just taken it upon myself to put a target on my head for a girl I didn't even like that much. Or maybe I did, I don't know. I shoot Maysilee a withering look to hold her accountable for my mixed feelings, but she's focused on the screen.

Most of the other players average with a five, including Maysilee's District Ten friends, and I'm not surprised when long-limbed Thistle rakes in an eight.

Last is District Twelve. Fir's face appears first, followed by a spinning ten. Eustacia leaps to her feet and starts clapping. "Brava Fir! Fabulous!" Even Grandis manages a crooked smile. Fir smiles modestly, seeming uncomfortable with all the praise. Next is Poppy, who pulls in a respectable six, especially for someone so frail.

"Congratulations Poppy!" cries Blondie. "What did you show them?"

"My knots," she says shyly. "I can turn almost anything into a net."

My face is next on screen. Maysilee shoots me a sidelong glance, which I ignore. I focus on exuding apathy, even though my stomach is in knots. Doubts race through my mind and I think of the horrified Gamemakers. I feel panic when I remember how I didn't even wait to be excused.

Nine.

What? The best I'd hoped for was a six. I must've made an impression after all. Then it dawns on me how furious Couture must be having a matching score with mine and I can't help but laugh. A nine! Grey must be ecstatic back home.

"Congratulations," says Fir, clapping me on the back.

"Yes, yes! Very well done," Eustacia twitters.

Finally Maysilee's picture pops up. She's concentrating very hard on the screen, as if willing herself to get a good score. She's rewarded with a number seven and her face splits into a grin.

"Way to go, May!" cries Poppy, throwing her arms around her.

Maybe she'll be able to manage not to get herself killed after all.


	10. Chapter 10: Poppy versus Dandelion

**CHAPTER TEN **

**MAYSILEE**

"There's more of you than we're accustomed to this year," Eustacia trills at breakfast. "So, we've decided to divide and conquer! Poppy and Maysilee you can start with me – we'll work on presentation and etiquette," she says the last part pointedly at Poppy who's stuffing a croissant into her mouth. "Haymitch and Fir, you can start with Grandis. He'll be helping you with content." Grandis gives a grunt for a response. I can't imagine he'll be any help.

The morning was an absolute terror.

"Oh for Heaven's sake Poppy stand up straight!"

"Poppy stop biting your nails!"

"Chin up Poppy, **UP**!"

The more aggravated Eustacia got, the higher her voice rose. At this point her voice was so squeaky any dogs in the vicinity were probably cowering. For the past hour Poppy and I had practiced walking with books balanced on our heads in impossibly high shoes. I was lucky enough to have a little training but Poppy would be black and blue tomorrow from falling so often. When she toppled over for the sixth time that morning Eustacia gave an exasperated shriek.

"Argh! Whose idea was it to name you Poppy anyways? You're a dandelion at BEST," scoffs Eustacia, pressing her fingers to her temple.

"We'll take a five minute break," she says before stalking off, her vibrant orange hair flouncing behind her.

"I'm sorry Maysilee, I'm really trying," whimpers Poppy near tears. She yanks off her heels and lets them fall to the floor with a thud.

"I know you are," I say sympathetically wrapping my arms around her thin shoulders. For people about to be shipped off to their deaths, learning to walk with books on our heads wasn't really a practical skill anyways. Even so, Poppy looks positively miserable. "She's right, I am a dandelion!" she wails.

"You are not," I say sternly. "Have you ever _seen_ a poppy?"

She shakes her head, her dark hair swishing.

"I saw a patch of them once on a walk with my friend Lillian. She used to work at the apothecary so she knows all about plants. She pointed them about to me. 'Aren't they beautiful?' she asked. And they were, with dark crimson petals stretching to the sky. She told me they were especially resilient, and could even grow in our awful soil. Poppies are a sign of health and strength, she told me, and their seeds have pain-relieving properties. They're special." Poppy stops sniffling and stares at me with huge gray eyes.

"The point is you're far from a dandelion. You're strong and resilient, just like the flower for which you are named. You can do this, _Poppy_."

I hear the telltale clip of Eustacia's heels as she enters the room.

"Are we ready to resume?"

"Yes," answers Poppy, and I smile at the determination in her voice.

The second half of the lesson went much more smoothly. Poppy managed to balance in her heels, and didn't complain once even after her toes began to turn an alarming shade of purple. After lunch we follow Grandis for our mentoring session. He sits quietly offering a little advice here and there but mostly keeping to himself. Poppy and I work together to come up with a strategy.

"How about cheerful?"

No.

"Nice?"

No.

"Energetic?"

As much as I liked Poppy her suggestions weren't very helpful. Not one of those things would help me win the Games let alone inspire anyone to sponsor me. By the end of the session we decided Poppy would be the sweet little sister everyone wished they had. Unfortunately for me we still hadn't decided on who I'd be.

I drag myself to my room, exhausted from the day. When I open the door I'm startled to see an extremely short woman in head to toe blue standing in my room. I imagine she'd actually be a lot shorter if not for the few inches provided by a high bun of inky blue hair on top of her head.

"Hello?"

"Oh hi! I was waiting for you!"

"Okay…" I say. She looks at me expectantly. "Um, who are you?"

"Oh right, duh," she says smacking her forehead. "I'm Laelia, your new stylist. I wanted to introduce myself before tomorrow's interviews." As she speaks her lips glitter, and I realize they're incrusted with sapphires.

My new stylist? Uh-oh. If her style was an indicator of what I'd be wearing I was screwed. Laelia glowed like the night sky. Her skin was a pale blue dusted with flakes of silver glitter. She had high cheekbones with dark almond shaped eyes flecked with silver. A small beauty mark in the shape of a star glimmered on her cheek.

"What happened to Fuschia?" I ask.

"A spot opened up in District 7 and she volunteered. Apparently _someone_ had quite the attitude," she says, wagging her finger at me.

I'm about to apologize and give an explanation when I catch her grin. "Frankly I don't blame you - Fuschia is as irritating as they come. It was her mistake treating District Twelve like a chore instead of a job, one I don't think she'll make again thanks to you," she smiles again, her teeth impossibly white in contrast with her navy lips. "_I_ personally don't mind a little bit of feist,"

"Thanks," I say uncertainly. "So how did you get stuck with us?"

Laelia laughs. It's not an attractive sound, a snort that sounds like cross between a dolphin and a pig, but it's endearing. "I didn't get stuck with you, I volunteered to take her place."

"Really?" I say incredulously. "Why?"

"Have you met the District One tributes," she says. "They're insufferable."

I already like her more than Fuschia.

"Now it's my job to make you memorable tomorrow. As you can see I'm somewhat of an expert on the subject." That's for sure – I bet even in the Capitol Laelia stood out. "So tell me, what's your angle?"

I sighed. I was still flip-flopping. "I don't know. Maybe… girl next-door? Relatable?"

Laelia makes a face, "That is hardly memorable."

I couldn't argue with that. People like Couture and Haymitch had it easy, but who was I?

"How about we play up some of that attitude. From the sounds of it you can be pretty fierce when you want to be." she says. Her eyes light up. "And I think I have just the thing!"

After giving me a quick goodbye and promising to make me look fabulous, Laelia scurries off to work on my interview dress. The second she's gone I wrap myself in downy covers and drift off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11: Water

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**MAYSILEE**

"She's got some good features. We can work with this." The words come to me through the thick fog of sleep.

I hear a giggle. "Ew, she's drooling!"

Are they talking about me?

"She's been sleeping for sooooo long, when can we wake her up?"

"Laelia said we should wait for her to wake up on her own."

"But I'm getting bored!"

"Hmmm… try poking her."

I feel a sharp fingernail prod my arm, and it dawns on me that this might not be a dream. I open my eyes and give a startled yelp. Three pairs of eyes peer back me. "You're awake!" squeals a girl with bright magenta ringlets.

"Um… hi?"

"I'm Sabina, we're your prep team. We were soooo excited to meet you we just couldn't wait," she giggles and takes my hands. I notice she has dark pink cheetah spots snaking up her arms.

"I'm Avitus," offers the boy on the left. His hair is dark with bright purple tips and his ears are filed to a point. He gives me an affectionate hug like we've known each other for years. "Oh, uh…hello" I'm suddenly very aware of my flimsy camisole and hitch the blankets up higher.

"I'm Marcellina," the girl to the right says, shaking my hand shyly. She looks almost normal with straight black until she looks up at me. Her eyes have been tricked out to appear like a hypnotic spiral, a black and white swirl circling slowly into her pupil.

Just when I think I might never look away, Laelia walks in breaking my trance. "Hey! Give the girl some space," she scolds, and the prep team scurries off the bed. They look like guilty puppies.

"I'm sorry about them. They were just really excited. We've never met anyone from District Twelve," she smiles and hands me a warm hot chocolate. I notice the room for the first time – it's been transformed into makeover ground zero. "Now we've got a long day ahead! I'm going to go work on your dress and the prep team is going to work on you."

"We are going to make you sooooo pretty!" exclaims Sabina.

As Laelia leaves to work on my interview dress, my prep team sets to work. They chatter away, gossiping while they work on me. They ask me about my home, family and friends. Avitus laughs when I tell them about a particularly awful boyfriend of Maybelle's. It turns out Marcellina is quite the romantic and she begs me to tell her all about Lillian and Heath even though she feels sorry for Mitchell. They seem so fascinated with my life and when I recount the story about the reaping and my sister, Sabina even wipes away a tear.

I tell them all about my journey so far, the words pouring out of me. I describe the night on the train with Haymitch and how irritating he is, though they don't seem to find him as repugnant as I do. They laugh when I relay all his sarcastic remarks.

When I tell them about my fight with Couture the three of them gasp. "I've got to admire your guts girl," Avitus marvels.

"I just don't know why Haymitch felt he should get in the middle of it, he made it clear we're not friends," I reply.

Marcellina gives a dreamy sigh. "He in love! He's protecting you like one of those knights in old stories."

I snort. "I think he's in hate actually."

"I don't know," Sabina chirps, "I mean I'm not sure it's love but that's definitely not something you'd do for someone you didn't like."

I think about lying beside him in his bed, and flush a little. If only he was like that all the time, instead of putting on this snarky, sarcastic persona.

"My boyfriend was a jerk when we first met," Avitus offers, "But I whipped him into shape real fast."

"Your boyfriend?" I ask curiously.

"Oops, I almost forgot you're from the Districts! Must mean we're doing a good job on making you over," he says with a wink. "We're much more liberal in the Capitol, we don't like to limit ourselves."

"So this Haymitch guy - do you like him?" Marcellina asks excitedly.

I can feel my flush becoming full on beet red. "Of course not!"

"Oooou look at that blush, you totally do!" Avitus teases.

"I'm not… it's just… hot in here," I say lamely. I'd never given it much thought, and considering he might be the one to kill me that was probably sensible. But now I found my mind wandering. Do I like Haymitch? On one hand I hate the self-entitled boy who snubbed me in training and insults me at every turn but on the other I like the boy who rescued me from Couture and played hours of what if with me. Too bad they're one in the same.

I quickly change the subject and start telling my team about Maybelle's antics which keep them laughing for a while.

"I bet you miss her," says Sabina.

"Yeah, I do," I reply sadly.

"I really hope you win, Maysilee," she says sincerely.

"We all do," adds Marcellina.

So do I, I realize. I'd spent so much time agonizing over a death I'd assumed was imminent I'd never stop to realize that I could actually win. I could go back to Maybelle and my family. Granted it was daunting to think of killing 47 people, but it was better than the alternative – being one of those 47 people. Yes, I really do want to win, I think.

Finally, my prep team is done with me and Laelia returns. A beautiful floor-length gown shimmers in her arms.

"Well, don't just stand there try it on!" Laelia beckons.

Sabina and Marcellina slip the dress over my head and zip me in. The fabric is soft as it falls around my ankles.

"Come take a look," I step over to the full-length mirror and gasp.

My hair lies in soft blonde waves, and Sabina weaved in strands of real gold that shimmer with a shake of my head. Marcellina rimmed my eyes with dark black and indigo kohl, bringing out the blue of my irises and making them look huge and luminescent. My cheeks are dusted with a bronzy gold and my pink lips look full.

Their work is magnificent though it is the dress that really takes the show. The top of the dress is a pale blue, the colour of the sky after rainfall. The pale blue slowly blends to azure to cerulean to sapphire to navy. When I move the dress dances around me like a waterfall, moving as fluidly as liquid.

"You know, people get the wrong impression about water. Most of the time we think of small trickling creeks and slow streams," Laelia says. "Water brings life, but people often forget that it can also bring death. It can come in great thunderstorms that flood the Districts, fierce tornados that will sweep you off your feet or huge tsunamis that could take out entire villages.

She gives me a once-over. "Tonight, you will be both."


	12. Chapter 12: Interviews

**CHAPTER TWELVE **

**HAYMITCH**

I'm the first one out of my styling session. I smirk, I guess this means I'm naturally better looking than the others. Eustacia and Grandis are waiting by the elevators. Eustacia is a ball of nervous energy; her foot tapping out a static rhythm that pauses only long enough for her to give me a nod of approval. The way she was acting you'd think she was about to take the stage. Luckily Poppy arrives soon after. She's wearing a knee-length pale pink dress. Her dark hair is in loose curls and pulled out of her face with a matching headband. She bites down on her glossed lips and for a split second she reminds me of Silver. It dawns on me that this her interview tactic – an innocent young girl you find yourself wanting to protect. It's clever but I'm not sure if it will work. People in the Capitol are bloodthirsty and Poppy won't be able to give them any bloodshed.

Fir is the next one to meet us. His stylists didn't have to do much to make him look good. He's dressed a well-fitted suit that accentuates his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

Just when I think Eustacia is going to tap a hole into the floor Maysilee arrives. She looks so different I almost do a double take. Her round cheeks are all contours and angles now, making her look fierce. While I think she must've always been pretty but there's something else to her now, a dangerous edge I hadn't seen before.

Fir gives her an appreciative smile, "You look good Maysilee." Her cheeks flush, and I see glimpse of the vulnerable girl underneath. I feel almost relieved to know she's still in there.

"Thanks Fir."

The City Circle is packed. A crowd of Capitol citizens swarms the stage, looking like a large flock of bright birds. I recognize Caesar Flickerman waiting for us. This year his hair, eyelids and lips are a dark shade of green. The colour reminds me of the thick forests in District Twelve. I'd always complained how the trees blotted out the sun with their canopy but now I yearned to lie under them again. Silver had always begged me to take her to the fence to watch the birds nesting in the trees. If I made it home I'd take her everyday whenever she wanted.

_This is not the time to get homesick_. I rearrange my features into a look of disinterest and take a seat on stage.

Caesar starts with Couture. She's all legs in a white dress that's impossibly short at the front, but long and flowing at the back. The lights beaming off her white-gold hair give her a halo effect. The thought of Couture being an angel is almost enough to make me laugh out loud.

Unfortunately, she plays the audience just the right way and they love her. Caesar asks her about her favourite Hunger Games moment she recounts a scene from the 43rd Hunger Games when a contestant had his face bludgeoned in. "Not very creative though," she muses. "I intend to do much better." The audience hoots and hollers at the promise of blood.

After one and a half minutes her time is up. Since this year there are twice the tributes we have half the time. The Career districts pass by slowly, and the longer I sit here listening to their stupidity the more I crave a drink. I find myself rolling my eyes on more than one occasion, and when one of the boys from District Two start flexing my gag reflex kicks in. Lucky for me they're all brawn and no brain, one of the only advantages I have.

The other districts go much faster. The girl from District Ten chatters on about her pet cow back home while her male counterpart gazes at her admiringly. Thistle gives thoughtful and calculated answers. She doesn't have to say much in order to make an impression. But when Caesar asks her about her experience in the Capitol she lets her cool expression slip and I can see the disgust broiling underneath.

Finally, it's District Twelve's turn. Poppy goes first. She's as sweet as candy, rewarding Caesar with shy smiles and soft giggles. When Caesar asks her about her family she becomes serious. "I'm an only child, and I don't know what my parents would do if they lost me."

Caesar's face is sympathetic, "Well we'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen." She gives him a winning smile, and the audience awes at her. I'm impressed; vulnerability might actually win her a handful of sponsors. Fir knows he doesn't have to do much to be impressive, but he banters with Caesar nevertheless. He earns a few good laughs from the audience.

Next is Maysilee. For someone who supposedly has a fear of public speaking she doesn't look nervous. On the contrary, her jaw is set in steely determination as she walks to center stage. Caesar greets her with a kiss on the cheek and her timer starts.

"So Maysilee, have you made an enemies yet?" he asks with a wink. I expect Blondie to freeze up, or at least give a stutter, but she doesn't even flinch. Maybe she was expecting the question. Knowing the Capitol they probably asked her this on purpose. Again, there is a demand for maximum drama.

"Well, there was one incident with some knives," she laughs like it was nothing to her. "Not a fight or anything because that's forbidden of course."

"Of course," nods Caesar in agreement.

"The problem is people think they can intimidate me. They underestimate because I'm from District Twelve, but what they don't know is that I'm like water. I might seem calm but one bad day and I could destroy you forever."

"Wow, I wouldn't want to get on your bad side," jokes Caesar. When the buzzer rings I realize something's different about Maysilee. It was like she woke up yesterday and decided she actually wanted to win.

They summon me to center stage last.

"So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?" asks Caesar.

I shrug nonchalantly. "I don't see that it makes much difference. They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same."

I hear the audience burst into laughter and I feel myself smile. I relax a little, leaning back in my chair. "Oh?" laughs Caesar.

"Some tributes think they can get along on strength alone," I look pointedly at the flexing idiot from District Two. "But it takes more than that and I'm smart. Smarter than everyone here, actually. That's why I'm going to win."

The audience breaks out into applause and I shoot them a lazy half-smile. Blondie isn't the only one to watch out for.


	13. Chapter 13: Holding Hands

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**MAYSILEE**

_The sky of the arena is thick with blue-black thunderclouds. The clock is ticking down from sixty, and I can feel my muscles coiled and ready to pounce. _

_As the gong rings out I shoot off the plate. Without my permission my legs are carrying me towards the Cornucopia. _

_No, I think. I should be going in the other direction, toward the thick crop of grass to my left. Couture and Ember will be waiting for me at the Cornucopia! I try desperately to turn myself around but to no avail. I'm in the thick of the battle. If I could only reach a knife or any weapon I might be able to save myself. _

"_Maysilee!" calls a familiar voice. _

_I follow the voice and see my sister lying a few feet away, looking dazed. _

"_Maybelle?" I say incredulously. "What are you doing here?" _

_A crack of thunder booms overhead, mingling with sound of screaming and blades clashing. The sky opens and rain begins to pour down. _

"_I don't know!" she yells her lower lip trembling. _

"_We've got to get out of here, May. We've got to run!" _

_I try to run to reach her but I lose my footing, the ground is slippery with rain and blood. _

"_May!" she shrieks desperately. _

_She's caught the attention of some Careers, and I'm too far away to help her. I try to get up, but fall back into the mud. _

"_Isn't this precious," purrs a voice I know all too well. Couture. She's standing over my sister with a blade in hand. _

"_NO!" I screech, but it's too late. Couture yanks Maybelle's hair back and presses the knife to her neck. With one swift movement she cuts the skin and blood flows like a faucet. _

_Couture throws Maybelle to the ground as she chokes desperately on her own blood. Couture's face stretches into her trademark Cheshire grin, and she looks positively gleeful._

"_Now, I'm going to come for you Twelve." _

_She throws herself on top of me and brings her blade to my throat. I can feel it pressing, pressing… pressing… _

I bolt upright gasping for air. I can still feel the imprint of the cold knife on my neck. My heart hammers frantically in my chest.

_It was only a dream, it was only a dream._

Except in less than twelve hours it could very well be true. In less than twelve hours I'd be in the arena and I could be dead.

In an attempt to calm my nerves I get up and order myself a hot chocolate. Instead of being soothing it's tasteless and unsatisfying.

My room feels desperately claustrophobic.

_I can't be here anymore or I'll puke_, I think.

I consider knocking on Fir's door but I know Poppy's probably already in there. She'd had night terrors since training began and when she wasn't sleeping in my room she was in his. Still I know there's no way I can face sleep by myself tonight, leaving one option.

Asking for Haymitch's comfort would be a gamble. If the odds were not in my favor (which they rarely seemed to be) I'd get the arrogant boy from interviews. That boy would probably laugh at my fears and slam the door in my face. But if somehow I got lucky… well, it might be worth the risk.

I knock on the door softly. For a long time there's no answer. I'm almost about to turn around when I hear the lock unclick.

"Blondie?"

His eyes are wide and alert, and I realize he probably hasn't sleep. His mouth is pulled into a frown, not a good sign.

"I had a nightmare," I say, suddenly feeling very foolish.

"Great. What do you want me to do about it? Pat your head and tell you it'll all be okay?"

As expected it seems the odds are _not_ in my favor tonight. This was a stupid idea. I don't know why I even bothered. Haymitch always made it very clear we're not friends.

I feel a prick in the back of my eyes, a telltale song I'm about to cry_. Damn it._ Haymitch's expression softens, and he gives an exasperated sigh.

"Well, come on then."

"Really?"

"Don't make me regret it," he growls.

I climb in bed next to him, grateful. He might not be especially warm or kind, but his presence is comforting and he smells like home.

For a while we lie in silence, chasing sleep on our own. I shift slightly when I turn over and accidentally bump his hand. A jolt of electricity runs up my arm and I think of my prep team, accusing me of having feelings for him.

_I don't,_ I tell myself. _He's still Haymitch, a self-absorbed, arrogant, drunkard._

_Who saved you from Couture,_ echoes a small voice in the back on my head. There's still a tingling where our skin touches.

_Shut up, Traitor. _

I wait for him to pull his hand away, or make a snarky comment about how I shouldn't touch him but he does neither. Emboldened by his lack of action I take his hand. Immediately, I feel him stiffen beside me and I expect him to pull away. I wonder if he's thinking about a girl he left back home. He stays perfectly still and tense for so long I begin to feel foolish, but it'd be more embarrassing to change my mind now. After a long beat I feel him slowly relax and to my surprise he laces his fingers through mine.

I fall asleep to the sound of his even breathing.

* * *

I'm not surprised when I wake up and Haymitch isn't here. It's Game day, and whatever semblance of a friendship we might have had for however brief is over.

I make my way to my own room and get in the shower. It'll probably be the last shower I have for a long time, if not forever. I stay in there a while, soaking up the smells of lemon and lavender.

Finally, I towel off and put on some clothes. I check the clock. I still have some time.

There's a stack of paper and manila envelopes sitting on the desk. I think of all the times I ached to tell Maybelle about Fir's goofy laugh or Maybelle about Haymitch's multiple personalities. Before I can think about it I plop myself into the desk chair and carefully write out three letters. I start with Maybelle before moving on to my parents and Lillian. When I seal up those letters I pause. I feel like I've forgotten something.

I have one more letter to write. I smooth out another piece of paper. I expect this one to be more difficult than the rest, but the words pour out of the pen with ease. When I'm done I seal it up and mark the front.

To the winner of the Hunger Games, I print carefully.

Five minutes later, Laelia comes to get me. We'll be leaving for the arena.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I reply grimly.

On my way out the door a glint of gold catches my eye. My mockingjay! I'd almost forgotten about it. Just holding it made me feel a little braver. Carefully I pin it on the outside of my jacket and shut the door behind me.

Laelia escorts me onto the hovercraft and sits with me as I get my tracker implanted and attempt to choke down some food.

We arrive at the Launch Room too soon. Laelia combs my hair back and lets most of it fall in a long golden sheet. She pulls the strands at the front of my face into a thin braid to keep them out of my eyes.

Soon after my clothes arrive, a thin black tank top with a light jacket and simple black khaki pants.

"Wait," I say when she's finished dressing me. "I forgot this." I remove the small golden pin from the jacket discarded on the floor.

"But you didn't submit it for review."

"I know but I need it. Please, Laelia," I beg.

"I simply cannot do that! I'm sorry," she says loudly, but despite her words she tucks the pin on the inside of my jacket and winks at me.

We're ready to launch. With shaking legs I step onto my plate and glass cylinders rise around me.

I turn back to look at Laelia in panic, and she locks eyes with me. She gives me a reassuring smile that I hold on to until the plate pushes me up.

There's total blackness for a few seconds and then a blinding light.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Fiftieth Hunger Games begin!"


	14. Chapter 14: The Cornucopia

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**MAYSILEE**

The first thing I notice is the smell. The sweet scent of honey and lilacs tickles my nose.

We've risen into the middle of the most beautiful meadow I've ever seen. There's a lush carpet of grass dotted with vibrant flowers. Petals of assorted colours - violet, orange, and crimson - stretch towards a clear azure sky.

To my left is a dense forest. These trees look entirely different from the ones back home, their leaves a vivid shade of pink. I can vaguely make out the shapes of brightly coloured songbirds resting under their canopy. To my right there's a looming mountain, dark blue against the sky and capped with snow.

I've never seen anything like this.

In front of me sunlight glints off the golden Cornucopia. As usual the best weapons are directly in the mouth. I can see sets of knives, axes and swords stacked in neat piles. Farther away from the Cornucopia smaller items are scattered haphazardly.

I glance up at the clock. Thirty seconds until I'm off my plate. I sneak a peek at Haymitch. He's eyeing the pink forest with distrust, a frown plastered on his face. Beside him I can see Poppy, tiny and frail against the vastness of the meadow.

Twenty seconds.

A baby blue bag on my far right catches my eye. I wonder if I could get there in time. The first few moments of the Games were crucial – within an hour a huge chunk of us would be dead – but the thought of leaving empty handed makes my stomach turn.

Ten seconds.

The Careers wouldn't be worrying about the fringes of the Cornucopia; they'd be fighting their way to the mouth. That bag could be mine, if I could just –

The gong sounds. It takes me a moment to catch my bearings before I dash off my plate and begin running towards the backpack. I see Haymitch running in the opposite direction, already disappearing into the forest.

I reach the pack in seconds and my fingers are curling around the strap when a stinging in my leg knocks me to the ground.

Ember. Her red hair writhes wildly in the breeze like snakes. She's holding the handle of a silver whip in her hand, the end wrapped neatly around my ankle. "Did you really think you'd get away that easily Twelve?" she sneers.

I don't even have time to throw my hands up in defense before something knocks her to floor. Fir stands over her holding a thick wooden club, Poppy hovering behind him. The whip slides out of her hand and I scramble to untangle myself.

"We need to move," yells Fir. I get up and sling the backpack over my shoulder.

Just as I've gotten to my feet a knife whizzes past and nicks Poppy in the side of her leg. Her pants split open and blood trickles down her thigh. Before she even has a chance to respond Fir scoops her up and throws her over his shoulder. I look back to see a fuming Ember, her throwing arm still extended.

"Maysilee!" he shouts and I run after him.

Bodies are already strewn across the ground, looking oddly out of place against the beauty of the meadow. I sprint across the field, trying desperately to keep up with Fir. Only when we're a good distance away from the Cornucopia do I look up to see where we're heading.

"Fir! We should be going to the forest not the mountains!" I pant out.

The mountain is beautiful but something about it doesn't seem quite right. It looks fake, like the backdrop of a picture. Haymitch had obviously thought something similar as he opted for the forest instead.

"It's too late to turn back."

The base of the mountain is thick with pink leaved trees and we dart into their cover. Every breath burns and the back of my throat tastes metallic like pennies.

"Fir," I rasp.

He gives me a backwards glance but doesn't slow his pace. "Sorry Maysilee, we can't stop."

I know he's right. We run for so long I can feel my legs turning to rubber and my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. By the time Fir finally slows his pace the sun has sunk low in the sky, and the bright blue of dusk illuminates the mountain.

"We should set up camp before it gets too dark," Fir says, setting Poppy down. He had carried her for what must have been hours as if she weighed nothing more than a ragdoll.

"We're going to have to move fast tomorrow to find water," he says. "We won't last long without it."

Despite having been carried, Poppy's face is ashen. "Let me take a look at your leg," I say.

I pull back the fabric of her pants and suppress a gasp. The wound is deeper than I expected and crusted over with dried blood. The sides are puckered and already turning an angry shade of red. Fir purses his lips, but doesn't say anything. Neither of us wants to make Poppy panic. Silently, Fir cuts the hem of his tank top in a neat strip and wraps it around the width of her thigh.

"All better Pop! You'll be back on your feet in no time," he says, forcing a grin. "Now, let's see what we managed to grab."

In addition to the club he'd been holding when he found me, Fir had managed to grab a set of knives. He keeps the larger ones for himself and hands Poppy and I smaller, more manageable ones.

Poppy got a small backpack containing some nuts, dried fruit and a tiny water bottle. To my disappointment it's empty.

Inside my baby blue pack I find a bowl, some dried beef and a blowgun with two-dozen darts. With our pooled resources we actually did decently.

Poppy's stomach growls loudly. She blushes. "I think I'm hungry,"

"Well at least that's one good thing about this arena – we'll never go hungry," says Fir, pointing the juicy looking fruit hanging from one of the trees.

It looks like an apple, except it's a strange shade of purple. Poppy reaches up and snaps it off the bough.

"Wait," I say. "Maybe you shouldn't eat that."

"Why not?" Poppy asks in confusion.

"It just doesn't add up," I puzzle. "Why would they give us packs with food and water when there's so much of it in abundance? Something's not right."

Poppy frowns at the apple but puts it down.

"Maysilee's right. We're going to have to ration until we figure out what's safe to eat," says Fir.

We divide part of the food between us – a handful of nuts, one strip of dried beef and two dried fruit each. These provisions won't last long but tonight we still have some extra padding from all those decadent Capitol meals.

"We should try to get some rest. We can take shifts being guard," I say.

"I'll take first watch," offers Fir. I'm thankful; my body is heavy with sleep.

I feel a little exposed sleeping in the open, so I make myself a bed of fallen pink leaves. I use the leaves to cover myself and Poppy, hoping they might provide a little bit of camouflage.

Despite my heavy limbs my mind will not slow down. My thoughts float between the past and the present, home and the Games. Somewhere in between I find myself thinking of Haymitch. A small knot forms in the pit of my stomach and with a start I realize I'm worried about him.

_Ugh._

When the Capitol seal lights up the sky, I try to steady my pounding heart. It's just because he's from my District, I tell myself. I know it's a lie – there's more to it than that.

Much to my disappointment only two of the Careers died in the initial bloodbath. That leaves ten of them, including Ember and Couture.

Among the dead are two from District Three, three from Five, one from Six, all from Seven, one from Eight and one from Nine.

There's a girl from District Ten but I'm relieved to see it's not Aimee. I note that all but Thistle remain from District Eleven.

The anthem plays and the sky goes dark. I exhale in relief – I hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath. Somewhere out there Haymitch was still alive – him and twenty-six others.

**HAYMITCH**

I feel a rush of relief when the anthem plays short of District Twelve. We all made it through the first day, even frail little Poppy. I tell myself that if I don't win the only thing that makes sense is to root for those from my district. As I think this I try to keep the image of a certain blonde girl out of my mind. I'd seen her running towards the mountain with Fir and Poppy. That mountain gives me the creeps but I know Fir won't let anything happen to them.

These Games were throwing me off. Normally the arenas were brutal, and just as deadly as the competitors themselves. Why would the Gamemakers send us to paradise?

I'd put as much distance between the Cornucopia and myself as I could. I moved fast, and managed to snag a backpack and a large knife before most of the tributes had even stepped off their plates. In the pack I'd found some dried food including strips of jerky and berries, a plastic brown tarp and some rope.

I'd nibbled on some dried food earlier but my stomach was still rumbling so loud I was sure someone would find me any second. I resist the urge to grab the ripe fruit dripping off the trees. I was used to being hungry but the time I spent in the Capitol confused my body. I was used to eating much larger meals now, and it would take my stomach some time to shrink again.

I hear a crack to my left and my head whips around in that direction. Vaguely I can make out the figure of a person, gasping and panting. They stumble through the branches, and not quietly at that.

"Idiot," I hiss under my breath.

The Careers would catch us both if they kept on like that. The tribute, male from the looks of it, stops and puts his hands to his knees. He pulls a large pack off his back and dumps it on the ground before slumping down next to it.

After a few minutes pass without movement I figure he must be asleep. I try to relax again, but the sound of rustling grabs my attention. The boy is moving again, reaching for the fruits on the trees. He grabs something plump and blue from a low branch. Greedily he stuffs it in his mouth, juice dribbling down his chin.

At first nothing happens and I think I must have been wrong about the fruit, but then his hands fly to his throat. A faint sizzling sound hisses in the air, and I can see the skin around his mouth beginning to melt away. He tries to cry out but all he can do is make choking sounds. His face turns an alarming shade of purple and he crumples to the ground.

He twitches there for a few minutes and then goes still. The harsh sound of the canon fires through the air.

I'm almost too stunned to move. What just happened?

My eyes fall to the boy's large pack and I snap out of my reverie. I dart through the branches and reach the fallen tribute. He looks like he swallowed a ball of fire. His tongue is blackened and charred and the roof of his mouth twisted and melted. I can see bone peeking through the deformed skin. Whatever he had eaten it definitely wasn't fruit.

I grab his backpack, and struggle awkwardly to get the bulk around my shoulders. Finally I manage and sprint back to my hiding spot, just in time to see a hovercraft swoop down and grab the boy. Even in the light I don't recognize him. He's short and skinny – how he managed to get away from the Cornucopia with such a large pack is beyond me.

I set the backpack down and rummage through the contents.

I see why the boy was so hungry, his pack is stuffed full of goods but no food. Inside I find a large half-empty canteen, a net, a silver thermal blanket and a small vial of light green liquid.

I bring the vial inches from my face and peer at the contents. I'm not familiar with the substance. I shrug and toss it back into the pack. I figure I'd better hold on to it – it must be useful for something.

The boy was the only one I'd seen or even heard all day. Hopefully that means most of the tributes headed to the mountain. I take the blanket and spread it on the ground, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep.

The blanket begins to shimmer and shift. To my delight the bright silver morphs itself into a dark pink, matching fallen leaves on the forest floor. Not a thermal blanket, but a camouflage shield.

_Clever_, I think.

I pull the blanket up and over myself, using the pack as a pillow. Only then do I let my body relax. I'd survived the first day.


	15. Chapter 15: Acid & Mutts

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**MAYSILEE**

I wake up to bright light beating against my closed eyelids. I blink in the morning sun and frown - did I sleep all night? Poppy's still asleep beside me, her little hand cupped in mine.

I sit up, and stretch. I can make out Fir's hunched figure facing away from us, tracing patterns in the dirt with a stick. I slip my hand out of Poppy's and get to my feet.

I tap Fir's shoulder lightly, trying not to startle him. He jumps anyways and turns to me with wide eyes.

"Oh, morning Maysilee," he says.

"Why didn't you wake me up?

"You looked so peaceful," he says shyly. "Besides, I don't mind."

Despite his protests his eyes, more green than gray in this light, are rimmed with dark circles.

"We should move out soon," he says, squinting at the sun.

"Maybe you should rest first."

He shakes his head adamantly, "We really need to find water, without it we'll be goners."

Fir packs up our collection of things while I shake Poppy awake. I carefully unwrap her crude bandages and check on her wound.

It doesn't look better but at least it doesn't look any worse. The skin is still puckered and red, but there's no pus that I can see. I wish we had some clean bandaging and water. I know from my time with Lillian that a harmless cut could quickly morph into a full-blown infection if it wasn't handled properly.

"Do you think you can walk on it?" I ask.

She bites her bottom lip, "I think so, but it hurts."

We divide up the little food we have. I try to choke down my dried beef but my mouth is dry and I ache for water. Fir's right, we've gone one day without water and my tongue is already like sandpaper in my mouth.

We walk along the base of the mountain. Fir wanted to climb higher but I insisted we stay on lower ground. Something about it sets me on edge; it's height looming over us like a great and terrible beauty. So we stick to the lower base, with Fir stopping every so often to feel the moisture in the soil. So far we've had no luck.

After a few hours I begin to feel agitated. I'm sweaty and cranky; the sun is blazing on my back. I'm about to call lunch break when Fir cocks his head to the side.

"Do you hear that?"

"No," I say stubbornly, continuing to walk.

"Wait stop," he catches my arm. "Listen."

I sigh but I comply. I hear songbirds singing sweetly in the trees above and the soft breeze ruffling the pink canopy leaves. They are familiar noises so I assume that's not what Fir's referring to. I strain my ears, under those sounds, very distantly I can

just make out what sounds like a faint trickling.

I have to stop myself from exploding into a sprint. "Water," I say hoarsely.

"Sounds like it's coming from over there," says Poppy, pointing to the right.

After a ten-minute walk I see a small stream. I could almost cry with relief. The sun bounces off its surface, reflecting back tiny beams of rainbow light. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I break into a run. The stream is shallow and I can see pale blue and purple pebbles under the surface.

Fir and Poppy catch up quickly and eye the stream hungrily. I'm about to wade in when I stop. Something isn't right. It's a shallow, slow moving pool of water and yet there aren't any minnows. Not just minnows, there are no plants or any sign of life at all.

Beside me Fir is hesitating too, having been beyond the fence he's probably sensing the same things I am. I pull Poppy back from the shore.

"What now," she groans.

"It's not right," I say.

"You've been saying that all day, Maysilee! First it was about the fruit and then the mountain and now the water!? I'm thirsty," she moans. Irritations shoots through me, does she not get that I'm trying to protect her?

"Fine. Do what you want," I say crossing my arms. It's not permission, but a dare.

Her jaw sets and she narrows her eyes. Fir tries to pull her away from the stream. "Poppy don't, Maysilee's probably –"

"Let go of me," she says, tearing herself from his grasp. "I've listened to everything you've said, but now it's my choice to make." She sounds like a petulant child being told she can't have any sweets before dinner. Before either of us can move to stop her, she bends down and reaches a cupped hand into the cool water.

As her fingers brush the surface I hear a faint hiss. Poppy's jaw drops and she lets out a blood-curdling scream.

**HAYMITCH**

I'd been walking for a few hours, my back to the mountain. I hadn't run across anyone yet besides the one boy, which seemed weird considering there were thirty of us. I figured most of the tributes must've headed for the mountain. I, on the other hand, had a goal that required me to stick to the forest.

I'd watched all the Games since I was seven. That totaled for eight Games. Still, I'd never seen a tribute reach the end of the arena. I'd always wondered what waited there, and each year I'd hoped maybe someone would unearth the mystery for me. It's stupid and superstitious but I can't help but think that if I could just find the edge I'd be able to work out a plan from there.

Around noon I break for lunch. After seeing what the fruit had done to that boy I'd been wary of everything. The once beautiful flowers looked ugly and poisonous – even the pleasant smell of honey wafting in the air became sickly sweet.

I pull out the bag of nuts from my pack and settle down on a smooth stone. I throw a handful of nuts in my mouth and bite down thoughtfully. My mind drifts to Grey and Silver.

Silver would be in school but Grey might be at home watching me on her little screen at this very moment. Or maybe not – there were probably more interesting things going on than me sitting on a rock eating some nuts.

The blast of the canon sounds in the distance, as if to confirm my thoughts.

I look up and follow the sound, it seems like it came from the mountain. A knot forms in my stomach. I try to ignore it – I can't worry about Maysilee every single time a canon goes off. Maybe it would be better for me if she did die, then I would be able to stop obsessing about her survival. I banish that thought quickly; the idea of her body being shipped back to District Twelve turns my stomach to lead.

When I look back down I see a fluffy squirrel has inched its way towards my rock. His coat is a lustrous brown, glinting gold in the sun. He's pretty big and even though I figure most of his mass is probably fur he'd probably make a decent enough meal.

"Come here boy," I whistle softly, holding out a palm full of nuts. The squirrel sniffs the air and scampers over to me.

His black eyes regard me curiously and he smells the nuts in my palm. He opens his mouth but instead of taking one of the nuts like I had expected he bites my finger with tiny pointed teeth.

"Ow!" I yell more out of surprise than pain. I throw the squirrel off me and suck on my finger.

The hair on the back of its back bristles and a low growl emanates from its throat.

_Since when do squirrels growl? _

I give the squirrel a second look. He's larger than the squirrels I remember from back home and clearly better fed. His pointed teeth are stained with my blood and when I look closely I can see his eyes are no longer black, but a startling crimson.

Realization dawns on me – not a squirrel, a _mutt._

I leap off my rock in horror. A low chattering starts up in the trees and I look up to see a pack of squirrels lining the branches. Moving deliberately slow I reach for my pack and swing it over my shoulder.

One of the squirrels lunges for me. I hurtle backwards and begin sprinting. I can hear the patter of the mutts as the race behind. I run at full speed, leaping over rocks and ducking under branches.

Eventually I reach a small creek. It's shallow enough that I think I might be able to walk across, though the current is moving swiftly. I put one foot in the water only to yank it back in surprise.

Whatever's in that creek it's not water – more like acid. It ate through the rubber soles of my shoe and left it melted and deformed.

_Shit. _

I almost want to laugh. Is this really how it ends? Murdered by a pack of fluffy squirrels?

I will myself to think of a way out of this mess. It's true I'm smart and well read, but if there's a book entitled _How To Escape a Pack of Squirrels Who Have You Backed Against An Acidic Creek _I've never read it.

_Well, Grey's definitely watching me now_, I think bitterly.

The squirrels are catching up; I can hear their angry chatter getting louder.

_Think._

What can I use to get myself out of this? I do a mental rundown of the things in my pack. A plastic tarp would be useless, as it would only disintegrate. There'd be a similar problem with using the camouflage blanket.

And then it strikes me. The creek is lined with trees, if I could manage to swing myself across using the rope in my pack, I'd be able to lose the mutts. It's a long shot though and my throwing arm had never been that great.

_Stay calm. _

I struggle to keep my hands steady as I pull out the rope and try to remember one of the knots I learned in training. I have to make a sort of lasso that will catch the branches on the other side. I only have one shot at this – if I miss the rope will fall in the acid, rendering it useless.

I'm not completely satisfied by my knot but the squirrels are gaining – I catch a glint of gold through the trees.

_Here goes nothing,_ I think.

I throw my arm back and watch the rope twist through the air. It misses the higher branches but snags a smaller branch on its way down.

The branch doesn't look especially stable, and when I pull the rope it bends precariously. The mutts are only a few feet away now – stable or not that branch is my only hope.

I take a running jump and hoist myself up onto the rope. It swings over the creek, and the branch protests under my weight. I've just barely cleared the shore when the branch gives out sending me sprawling.

I gasp as pain shoots up my leg. While most of my body made it onto the stony bank my left leg landed in the shallow water. I cry out and jerk it from the acid.

The pain is instant and intense. I bite down hard on my bottom lip to keep from yelling out again. The sharp metallic tang of blood fills my mouth.

I lie there gasping for a few moments, letting the pain subside. It does somewhat, but not enough. I think of Grey watching me and grit my teeth. I can't afford to look weak right now. I sit up slowly to assess the damage.

My entire shoe has disintegrated, leaving my left foot bare. There are already angry looking blisters forming around my ankles and the top of my toes. I wince, and pull the burnt hem of my pants higher. My foot seems to be the worst of it, but the skin is puckered and bloody up to my mid-calf.

I pull out my water bottle and let a cool trickle dribble onto the wound. I use my knife to cut the burnt fabric and fashion it into a sort of bandage.

I can see the squirrels pacing angrily on the opposite side of the creek . Despite myself I smile. I made it. I'm still alive.

_Haymitch: 1, Gamemakers: 0_


	16. Chapter 16: First Kill

****Thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. I love reading your comments & feedback. Hopefully i'll be able to update soon! ****

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**MAYSILEE**

It turns out the stream wasn't a stream at all but a pool of acid. Luckily Poppy only suffered minor burns on her right hand, having practically singed off her fingerprints.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she'd sobbed when we'd examined her wound. My initial irritation faded quickly and I felt a stab of guilt – I shouldn't have egged her on, she's just a kid. Worst of all we're back to square one and thirstier than ever.

As the sky darkens we set up camp close to the stream, figuring it will act as a natural weapon if we need it.

I take first watch, even though Fir fights me. Upon realizing there was no way I was backing down Fir hands me my blowgun.

"Be safe," he says and lies next to Poppy.

The two of them fall asleep in no time, though Poppy twitches and whimpers restlessly in her sleep. She curls against Fir like a kitten, and I feel sorry again for letting her dip her hand into the acidic stream.

A little while later the Capitol seal appears in the sky as do the faces of the dead; the remaining boy from Three and a girl from Six. It's only the second day and already two districts have been wiped out. When Haymitch doesn't appear I breathe out a sigh of relief. I wonder if this will be a nightly ritual, scouring the sky for his face.

I heard a few canons go off in the mountain today, though they seemed to be coming from higher up, making me feel better about refusing to hike upwards. It still makes me uncomfortable knowing that so many of us opted for the mountain. It was only a matter of time before we ran into other tributes.

When the anthem ends there's only silence. I let my mind wander to keep boredom from setting in. I think of Maybelle and I wonder with amusement if she's still with July. This one was special, she'd said, the very same thing she'd told me about every other boy. Maybe this one would be different. What was his name? Something Undersee.

I'm trying to remember his first name when a shrill scream cuts through the hair. I leap to my feet, blowgun in hand.

I can see an orange flame in the distance, smoke rising from the treetops. Someone's set a fire, and they're dangerously close to our camp.

"Fir," I whisper urgently, shaking him awake.

He wakes with a start. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

"Look," I point to the smoke, black against the dark sky. He swears under his breath.

"You don't think someone would be stupid enough to start a fire do you?"

"Or there's the alternative," he says, his mouth a grim line. "Only Careers would be able to get away with something like that."

Another scream breaks through the air, high and feminine. The agony in it makes me want to throw my hands over my ears. It sounds almost… familiar.

Fir must of caught the look on my face because his eyes widen, "Maysilee, no."

Realization dawns on me. "It's Aimee," I say shrilly.

He puts his huge hands on my shoulders, "You can't help her. We have to get moving before they find us."

Another scream. This time I do cover my ears.

"She's dying," I rasp.

He looks pained, "That's the point of the Games."

I shake my head and turn towards the fire, taking off before Fir can stop me. I run silently through the forest, following the sound of Aimee's whimpering. When I get close enough to make out shapes I duck behind a tree, still a safe distance away. My heart sinks as I count out ten Career tributes.

"Now for the last time, where are they?" The voice slices through the air, soft and dangerous all at once. My blood turns cold. I know that voice.

She steps into the glow of the fire, light bouncing off a curtain of silver-blonde hair. Her blue eyes gleam maliciously, and her pink mouth is twisted in a snarl.

_Couture. _

"I don't know," Aimee moans. "I haven't seen them since the Games started." Two broad male Careers pin each of her arms back. The entire left side of her face is crusted with dried blood.

"Liar," Couture hisses. "It's a shame you're being so uncooperative. I know you made friends with that insipid blonde girl from Twelve. She thought she could make me a fool and get away with it. Her and that idiot boy. I'm going to prove them wrong."

Aimee lets out a sob, blood trickling from a cut on her eyebrow. I feel a stab of guilt as I realize Couture's talking about me and Haymitch. I knew we made ourselves targets the day we crossed her, but I hadn't realized we'd made others targets as well.

"All I need you to do is be a good little girl and tell me where they are."

"I told you, I don't know!" Aimee wails.

Couture toys with a silver knife, "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but I have other ways to make you talk."

"Leave her alone," a voice calls hoarsely. It's Trexler, tied to a tree trunk with Ember's silver whip. Beads of blood ooze where the whip digs into his skin, and his red hair is dirty and matted.

"Aw, look at you being sweet and noble," Couture coos. "You know what? Because your love for her is so pure I'm going to give you the honor of watching your girlfriend scream while I torture her." She smiles, "And if she doesn't give me what I want, I'm going to cut out her pretty little heart."

_No_, I think. I have to do something, anything. Maybe I could take them on as allies.

I take a small step towards the light but before I can take another I'm yanked back into the darkness.

"Maysilee, you can't help them." It's Fir.

"Let go of me," I say, my voice catching with despair.

I try to wriggle out of his grip but he wraps his thick arms around me. I thrash against him desperately, "Stop it, Fir!"

It's useless, I feel like I'm hurting myself more than him.

"What's your plan," he says fiercely. "Are you going to march in there and take out ten Careers?" I can feel tears pricking the back of my eyes.

"I –"

"What would your sister say?"

She would say that I should get the hell out of there and get myself home. If she's watching this all play out back home she's probably be cursing at me through the TV right about now.

I stop struggling and slump with defeat. He's right. What could I do? There was no way I'd be able to save them; I'd only get myself killed.

I watch helplessly as Couture reaches for something bright orange. I think it's a… butterfly? She holds it delicately by the tip of its wing, and it lays unmoving between her fingers.

"Pretty isn't it? A modified version of the monarch butterfly, I believe. I hear its sting is agony," she says gleefully. "One sting brings on awful hallucinations, two stings seizures and three… well do I really need to tell you what happens at three?"

Oh my God. All these beautiful things, the flowers, the insects, even the water is deadly.

_Just like Couture,_ I can't help but think. Her black tank top hugs the curves of her body as she moves gracefully towards Aimee.

"This one's dead, but I bet it's sting still packs a punch. Wanna try it out?"

Tears stream down Aimee's face and she shakes her head vigorously.

Couture brushes aside Aimee's braid, exposing the pale skin of her neck. She takes the butterfly and plunges the stinger into Aimee's flesh. I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. Aimee she lets out an inhuman scream.

"Stop it!" yells Trexler. He's thrashing against the whip, making it dig into him deeper.

"Shall we try it again?"

Aimee's slumped over, barely conscious.

"No, stop! I'll tell you where they are," cries Trexler desperately.

"Such a good boy," Couture purrs, walking over to him and placing her palm on the side of his cheek. Trexler's eyes are full of hate.

"I saw them hiking up towards the summit," he says. He's lying.

"Now was that so hard?" Couture clucks, giving him a beatific smile. "Bring the girl to me," she calls to the Careers holding up Aimee. Her eyes are half open and unfocused.

"Unlike you, your boyfriend has been very cooperative," she says. "For that, I'll give you a quick, clean death."

"Wait, what –" starts Trexler.

Couture snickers. "You didn't think I'd actually let you two go did you?"

Trexler's face turns beet red with rage. "You bitch," he spits with venom.

Couture's expression darkens and wordlessly she swings her arm back and punches Trexler. His head whips back against the tree trunk and blood spurts from his nose.

Trexler laughs. "Go to hell," he says. He pulls back and he spits a wad of blood and saliva into Couture's eye. She keels backwards in shock, dropping Aimee's arm in the process.

"Run, Aimee!" Trexler calls desperately.

Aimee looks disoriented. The hallucinations from the sting have probably already started.

"Hurry!"

She gives him a confused look but gets to her feet. Unsteadily she stumbles away. Couture's already recovered, but when the Careers go to give chase she stops them.

"Let her go. She won't last long without her guardian watching over her anyways."

She turns back to Trexler. "And we were having such fun. It's a shame you had to go and ruin it." Her lower lip protrudes in an exaggerated pout.

"Oh well, what's done is done. You made your choice, and now I'm going to make you pay. It's been a pretty boring day – I'm sure the Capitol is just itching for a show."

She brings her face close to Trexler. For all his bravery he looks petrified now. I wait for the fatal blow of her knife but instead she presses her lips to his. I can tell he's surprised by the way his body tenses. After a beat she pulls away, satisfied.

"I bet your little girlfriend never kissed you like that."

He looks at her with astonishment, his mouth agape. Before he can respond Couture slips something red out of her pocket and stuffs it in his open mouth. She plugs his nose with one hand and covers his mouth with the other.

Trexler struggles against her, but his arms are pinned to his sides and thus useless.

"Oh don't worry silly boy, it's just fruit! Granted it's poison fruit but details, details," she says with a grin. "Every one is different, it's fascinating really! The blue is acidic, the purple brings instant death – which is boring if you ask me – and the red… well I haven't tried it yet. I guess we'll see."

Despite his best efforts, Trexler is forced to swallow down some of the fruit. Couture releases her hands and he spits out the rest of it, coughing.

He keeps sputtering, and dark splatters of blood spew from his mouth. His eyes are wide with fear as he hacks away, choking on his own blood.

Couture's grin widens, "Oooh, fun," she says clapping her hands.

Trexler continues to rasp and choke until his eyes roll back into his head. I grip Fir hard, and bury my head in his chest. I stifle a sob - I can't watch, it's horrible.

When I look back up I'm startled to see Trexler staring back at me with wide eyes. Did he know I was here the whole time?

He continues to cough for a long time, always on the verge of death but never quite reaching it. He keeps his eyes on mine the entire time. After a while Couture gives a frown.

"Ugh, bored now," she complains. She picks up a large throwing axe and buries it into his skull. A scream dies in my throat as I watch the axe split his head open like ripe fruit.

Tears spill down my cheeks. Trexler was dead because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Because I'd threatened Couture with empty promises. I crumple to the ground and sob.

I'd seen this kind of thing in other Games, but it happened to people I didn't know, who were a safe distance away on my TV screen. This was different. I'd forgotten how brutal the Careers could be, completely void of mercy.

A canon sounds.

"We have to go May," Fir says softly. "They're looking for you. We have wake up Poppy to get as far away from them as possible."

I give him a nod, and climb unsteadily to my feet. I feel nauseous.

We're halfway back to camp when I lean over and vomit on the side of a tree. Fir gives me a pitying look.

"You go get Poppy," I say. "I just need a moment."

He hesitates, but I wave him off. I lean against the tree watching him disappear.

For a while I stay there, my cheek pressed against the cool bark, until I hear a loud snap of branches. Someone's coming, and they're not being subtle about it. I wrap my fingers instinctively around my blowgun. I think of what Couture said –

_The blue is acidic, the purple brings instant death._

I gaze at the branches above me, luscious purple fruit dangling from their branches. I grab one of the fruits and slice it open with my small knife. The insides are a slimy bright green. Careful not to touch the substance I dip a few darts in it, coating them.

_Instant death,_ I think.

The crashing noise is getting closer and I poise my blowgun, ready.

A figure emerges from the brush, stumbling as if drunk. Aimee. I lower my gun and run towards her, catching her as she trips over a branch.

"Aimee, are you okay?"

She looks up at me with wild eyes.

"Stay away from me," she says, her voice laced with fear. She yanks herself out of my grip.

"I'm just trying to help." I take a step back.

"Please don't kill me Couture," she says shrilly. Couture?

"I'm not – It's Maysilee," I say.

"Where's Trexler?" she looks disoriented, but I'm scared to touch her.

"Aimee, I'm so sorry. They – they killed him."

Her eyes widen and fill rage. "You killed him?"

"I didn't do anything! I told you, I'm not –"

I don't get the sentence out before she hurtles herself at me. She's clearly still hallucinating from the sting, seeing me as Couture instead of myself.

"Aimee, stop!" I yelp. She knocks me to the ground and thrashes at me, nails raking the side of my face.

Her knee is on my forearm, pinning one arm and keeping me from escaping.

_She's going to kill me,_ I think desperately.

I'd dropped my blowgun and darts when I'd fallen, and I crank my neck with great effort. I spot them lying a few feet away. I reach for the blowgun with my free arm, my nails scraping against the dirt. Aimee reaches up and wraps her small hands around my neck, thumbs pressed against my windpipe.

"Stop," I wheeze out. She doesn't even flinch. Tiny black spots fleck my vision.

I don't have enough air to use the blowgun, I realize frantically. I'm going to have to use one of the darts itself. I reach blindly for them. They must be scattered across the forest floor. My hand searches, and finally my fingers find one.

I reach up and jab it into Aimee's neck, where the butterfly stinger is still embedded. She crumples to the ground instantly. Her body convulses and seizes, her mouth frothing. I step back, afraid. Then her body goes still.

I look at the dart in my palm, feeling sick.

Aimee is my first kill.


	17. Chapter 17: Hostage

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**HAYMITCH**

I wake up to a stinging in my leg. Actually less of a stinging and more like someone had set my whole damn leg on fire in my sleep. I pull off the camouflage blanket and shield my eyes from the bright sun. I sit there for a second, soaking up the warmth.

_Two minutes and I'll look at it_, I promise myself.

Two, five and then ten minutes pass before I can work up the nerve to look at my wound. Reluctantly I pull my leg inwards, bending at the knee. I peel off the bandages slowly.

The smell hits me instantly and I try not to gag. It reeks of rotting flesh.

The good news is the skin on my mid-calf doesn't look as bad as it did at first glance. The bad news is the damage on my foot is much worse. The skin is blistered, and patches of white skin ooze pus. It doesn't like any burn I've ever seen. I rip off the arm of my jacket and use it to wrap around the injury.

I get up and try to put my foot to the ground. A stab of pain shoots up my leg and I nearly double over with pain. Panic seizes me. I can't walk. The best I'll be able to do is hobble and even that's a stretch. If I come across anyone, I'm dead. If I don't… well, judging by the oozing blisters I'm still dead.

I'd spent the night along the bank of the stream but in the daylight it gives little in the way of concealment. I'd have to get a move on or someone was sure to find me.

I pull my remaining shoe on my good foot and rest my weight on it. I grab a long stick and fashion it into a crude crutch. It's uncomfortable but at least I have some mobility.

Walking with my huge pack is much harder this way. The best I can do is limp through the forest. It makes an awful racket, and I hate not being able to hear what's going on around me. For all I know vicious fluffy squirrels could be waiting to tear me limb from limb.

I'm making so much noise that I don't hear her before it's too late. By the time I draw my knife and turn around she already has a crossbow aimed at my forehead.

"Drop the knife."

Other than a shallow cut across her cheekbone Thistle looks the same as ever. Tight high bun, smooth mocha skin and brown eyes narrowed into slits.

"You're going to kill a cripple? That'll be great for your image. Especially since you're already such a people person," I say sarcastically.

"I said drop it."

"Fine." There's no way I'd be able to move faster than she could shoot. I let the knife tumble to the ground.

"Satisfied?"

Her crossbow is still aimed at my head.

"Nearly."

She edges closer and pulls a long cord of rope from her pocket.

"This will be a lot easier if you don't fight."

I stare at her incredulously.

"I thought only Careers tortured other tributes."

Thistle looks at me like I'm a complete idiot. "They do."

"So what's with the bondage? I mean, you should at least buy me dinner first don't you think?"

She doesn't even crack a smile.

"Tough crowd," I mutter.

"Because," Thistle says very slowly as if addressing a small child, "I don't want you to get away. That would defeat the purpose."

She double checks her knot and pulls it a little tighter.

"And that purpose would be…"

She gives the rope a sharp tug and I almost go flying. I glare at her.

"We're going to have to move a lot faster than you were going if we're going to get there in a reasonable amount of time."

"Get where?"

She squints at my bad leg – blotches of red peek through the bandaging.

"Did you fall in the stream? Tough break."

She pulls the rope again, but not as hard this time. I can still manage my makeshift crutch but it's more difficult, especially with the weight of my pack.

"What is going on? You haven't killed me –"

"Yet," she interrupts.

"Fine, you haven't killed me yet. So what, do you want me for an ally?"

She snorts. "Yeah, that's right. I want your dead weight for an ally. Now get a move on."

We move in the opposite direction I'd been going. Now we face the mountain, it's presence looming over us ominously. Maneuvering through the bramble under foot takes great concentration, especially with Thistle pulling me like a dog on a leash. I try to get answers out of her but she ignores me. After a couple of hours I dig my good foot in the ground.

"What the hell," she says, irritated.

"I'm not going any further until I get some answers."

"I'll drag you if I have to," she growls.

"Do it," I dare her. "From what I can tell you don't have any duct tape so unless you want this to be a journey of hell I suggest you answer some of my questions."

"You're getting on my last nerve, boy."

I shrug and lean against a tree.

She grits her teeth. "I'm taking you to that girl from District One."

I stare at her expectantly, waiting for more information. She sighs.

"She's looking for you and your blonde friend."

Of course she is. Damn Maysilee – she isn't even here and she's still getting me in trouble.

"Since when is Eleven a Career district?"

"We're not, but word is anyone who can bring you to her gets full immunity from the Careers until it's down to five of us."

"Word? Whose word?"

"The girl from Six. When I found her she tried to bargain for her life."

"But she's dead."

"I said she tried, not that she succeeded."

I must look as disgusted as I feel because she rolls her eyes at me. "Survival of the fittest."

"So, you believe her?" I scoff.

She shrugs, "I think it's worth the risk."

I can only imagine what Couture wants with us. I remember her during interviews, promising the audience "creative" deaths. By creative I assume painful and bloody. I have to escape – there's no way I'm letting Thistle deliver me to her.

Since we're stopped anyways Thistle allows us a small break. She ties the end of the rope to a tree and pulls out a slim vial from her pack. She reaches up and picks a yellow fruit from a branch above. My heart lifts with hope. Maybe I won't have to stage an escape after all. If Thistle eats that fruit she'll be dead in a matter of minutes.

She cuts the fruit into neat quarters and pops one in her mouth. I wait for sizzling or burning or _anything_ but nothing happens. She eats fast, polishing off three slices within seconds.

Before she can get to get to the fourth she starts making a gagging noise. It looks to me like she might be choking. Then swiftly she unscrews the vial and dribbles a small drop on her tongue. She gasps for air and sputters a little, but other than that she seems alright.

What just happened? The last time I'd seen someone eat fruit from these trees he'd practically melted his mouth off.

She catches the expression of my face and shoots me a look of bemusement.

"Did you really think I was that stupid? I know they're poison."

"But you're… alive."

She holds up the vial and gives its contents a little shake.

"It's an antidote. The yellow fruits are slower acting than the others but you'll still suffocate if you don't move fast. A drop of this and you're cured. Some of us weren't so lucky to leave the Cornucopia with food. This way I'll never go hungry."

She's smarter than I realized. I figured with her lean muscle she'd be more brute strength than brains. Escaping wouldn't be easy.

She repeats the process with the fruit twice more before we pack up and move out. We walk in silence for a few more hours.

Thistle had let me keep my pack, excluding the knife, though I suspect that was more because she didn't want to carry it herself than anything. She tied the rope tightly around my wrists but allowed a lot of slack in between them so I could maneuver my crutch. In theory I could probably still fight her, but she had my knife and a crossbow. Deal or no deal I bet she would still kill me in self-defense.

I spend the whole time thinking of way to escape. By the time we stop again I think I've formulated a plan.

"We can stop for a couple hours but I want to keep travelling through the night. She's somewhere on that mountain, a little more than a days walk away."

The thought alone makes me want to die of exhaustion but I nod, if all goes well I won't be hostage for much longer.

Once again she ties me to the nearest tree and she removes the slack between my wrists. She sets her pack down and pulls out the antidote before grabbing yellow fruit off a low-hanging branch.

She stands close, cutting her fruit and keeping an eye on me simultaneously. My heart picks up speed and I pray she can't anticipate what I'm about to do.

She begins eating fast, this time managing to eat the whole thing before the choking starts.

As she reaches for the vial I spring into action. I shove her with my shoulder and knock her to the ground. The vial goes flying and smashes against a nearby tree. I use my knees to pin her arms to the ground and she thrashes under me. Her cure is gone and without it she'll choke to death.

"Sorry Thistle," I say. "Survival of the fittest."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! The next chapter is already written I just have to edit it. You should expect it within the next couple of days.**

**The next two chapters will be from Maysilee's POV. **

**Thanks for the reviews and support :) **


	18. Chapter 18: You Should Know

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**MAYSILEE**

When Fir had heard the canon sound he'd come running with Poppy in tow.

I assume he thought the Careers had gotten me. Instead he'd found me alive, covered in someone else's blood.

I vaguely remember him pulling me to my feet and urging me to run. The whole thing felt surreal, like it happened to someone else. If it wasn't for the tender skin around my neck I would've thought it was a dream.

We ran the rest of the night and we'd been walking all day. We'd agreed that our next move should be getting off the mountain and finding our way back to the meadow. My heart had lifted at the prospect of running into Haymitch, but my joy was short-lived when I realized he'd probably just try to stab me.

It had been a rough day. At first Fir had tried to lighten the mood with conversation. Neither Poppy nor I were in the mood for talking. Poppy was still embarrassed about yesterday, holding her bandaged hand awkwardly against her chest and I couldn't focus long enough to hold a conversation. I kept seeing Trexler's steely gray eyes and hearing Aimee's high-pitched wail.

Even though I was directly responsible for Aimee's death I felt just as guilty for Trexler's. They might have lived if they hadn't decided to befriend me. Maybe one of them would have even won.

When I wasn't thinking about Aimee and Trexler I was thinking about the thirst burning in the back of my throat. In training they drilled in the importance of water and food – how the elements were just as deadly as any tribute. I remember the head trainer telling us we could last for weeks without food but without water we'd be dead in less than a week. It was day three.

By nightfall my feet feel numb with pain and my throat aches with thirst. Fir has to stop me from tripping over them more than once. When he grabs my arm to keep me from face planting for a fourth time he calls it a day.

I slump to the ground with exhaustion.

"We're close," Fir says, trying to be reassuring.

"Don't lie."

He gives a small smile, "Would I lie to you? Look, do you see through that patch of trees?"

I squint in the dimming light, not sure exactly what I'm looking for. But then I see it, bathed in gold. The Cornucopia.

For a second I feel immense relief, only to fall back to reality.

"We have no water, Fir. Even if we do make it to the Cornucopia we'll never get farther than that," I say miserably.

Fir shakes his head. "There must be a way to get water. It would make for a very boring Game if we all dropped dead of thirst. The Capitol will want blood."

"So what's the way," says Poppy desperately. Red lines of blood seep through the cracks in her lips when she speaks. She doesn't seem to notice.

"You should have sponsors, Fir! You got a Ten in training!"

"That was before I teamed up with a pair of girls."

I'm not sure if it's a joke or an insult but either way I'm too exhausted to care.

"But Grandis manages the sponsors," says Poppy in a small voice.

Fir's face darkens. He could have millions of sponsors lined up but with Grandis as our mentor their gifts would never make it to the arena.

"We're screwed," I say. Tears of frustration prick my eyes. I'm done with this day. I'm done with these Games. I want to go home, lie in my bed and cry while my mother rocks me to sleep.

I tilt my face upwards to the sky, giving the cameras a full view.

"Grandis! GRANDIS," I shout upwards. "Listen you addict, we're dying out here. Do you hear me? We are going to die." The words rasp out from my dry throat with great effort.

"If you're out there, if you're listening send us help. Between us you must be able to get something. Please I'm begging you, we need water."

We all wait, holding our breath. Nothing happens.

"Maybe there's a fight going on so he didn't see it," Poppy suggests half-heartedly.

"No, he saw it," Fir says flatly. "But he's got his morphling and he doesn't have time for us."

"Come on, let's try to eat and get some sleep."

We unpack some of our gear and split up the food. We're running dangerously low – enough for maybe another day or two if we stretched it out.

I'm about to bite down on some jerky when I see it. Hovering above us is a delicate silver parachute.

For a moment I'm too stunned to move, but the feeling passes quickly and I leap to my feet. I grab the package of midair and stare it with astonishment.

"Is that what I think it is?" asks Poppy with wide eyes.

I pull off the silver wrapping and examine the gift. Two large canteens that feel pleasantly full in my hands.

I'm warier now, and I unscrew the top. I sniff at the contents, but it's odourless. The acidic water had a strange sharp smell. "Water," I say hoarsely. If I had any tears left I would've cried right then with joy.

"You did it May," smiles Fir.

I laugh for the first time in a long time, "I did… Well Grandis did."

"Thank you," I say to the sky after a beat.

"We have to be careful and pace ourselves – who knows how long we'll have to make this last. I say we split one canteen now and save the rest for later."

Fir, the voice of reason.

"Alright," Poppy agrees reluctantly.

We sit under the cool night sky passing the canteen in a circle. The first sip is deliciously wonderful, like the first rain after a drought. With each mouthful my pains begin to ease, and when the canteen's dry I feel almost human again.

Poppy offers to take first watch but the suggestion is ridiculous. Even if she was completely healthy I'm sure a strong gust of wind could take her down, but between her leg and arm there's no way she's in any condition.

"Maysilee took the first shift last night, so I'll do it tonight, " Fir says.

"Not like you got much sleep before the Careers lit that fire. Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

Poppy protests a little but it's clear she's too tired to put up much of a fight. Just like every previous night she falls into a fitful sleep.

Every bone in my body aches for sleep but I don't feel right leaving Fir on guard. He's barely gotten any sleep since these Games began. So instead of crawling to bed beside Poppy I plop myself next to Fir cross-legged.

"Alright, what gives? You must be just as tired of the rest of us."

A shadow crosses over his face. I can see he's conflicted between brushing me off and telling the truth. With a sigh he decides to go for the truth.

"I've been having… dreams," he says slowly.

"You mean like nightmares?"

"No, worse." I'm confused but I wait for him to continue. "When I sleep I dream of home. I'm at the Hub or hunting in the forest or…" he swallows hard. "Or with my little sister."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

"Yeah. She's a little younger than Poppy. Sometimes on really special occasions I'd sell some of the meat I'd poached to get a little extra money. Then we'd go to your shop and I'd let her pick out one thing, anything she wanted."

"I never saw you there," I say surprised.

He flushes. "I saw you. The way you focused on your work was incredible and you were so pretty, I was always too afraid to talk to you."

I can't help but scrunch up my nose in disbelief. "Are you sure you're not thinking of Maybelle?"

He shakes his head adamantly. "No, it was you. I'm sure of it."

I think back to one of the last conversations I had with Haymitch.

_Some boys find it charming._

_What boys? _

_Tall, lots of muscles, rhymes with Mir? _

"Ah well, it doesn't matter anyways," he says after a pause.

"Yeah, the whole imminent death thing isn't exactly a great way to start a romance."

He smiles sadly, "That's not what I meant."

I'm about to ask him to elaborate when the Capitol seal lights up the sky. I inhale sharply and dig my fingernails into my palms. My nightly ritual.

I wince when Aimee's bright smile illuminates the sky. It seems impossible that because of me she'll never to be able to smile like that again. She'll never be able to do anything again. Her face seems to linger but finally the screen morphs into an image of Trexler. Seeing them crushes me with an avalanche of guilt but I force my gaze to the sky anyways.

After what feels like several torturous minutes the screen changes again and I see another familiar face. Smooth brown skin and dark guarded eyes – it's the girl from Eleven, Haymitch's lunchmate. After her the anthem plays out and the light of the Capitol seal fades away.

No Haymitch. I feel my body relax.

Fir gently takes my hand and opens my palm. The tiny crescent-moon shaped imprints of my fingernails are still visible.

"You were looking for him weren't you? Just now, making sure he wasn't dead."

"Who?"

"Who do you think?"

I know exactly whom he's referring too. I pull my hand back into my lap.

"So? He's my friend."

Fir shakes his head, "He's not your friend, May."

"You're right, he's probably not even that," I say with an eye roll.

"Or maybe he's more than that."

My pulse quickens and I try to keep the blush from creeping onto my face. "What?"

"I've seen the way you look for him every night. If your sheer will could keep him alive he'd be immortal."

"I –"

He holds up a hand to stop me. "And maybe you really don't know how you feel yet, but I do. You like him. As for me… I'm just your friend."

It had been easy to brush it off when my stylists pointed it out because they're so frivolous and everything they say is ridiculous. But this is Fir – calm, levelheaded Fir.

When I'd been in Haymitch's room playing a game of what if it had been easy to imagine a life with Fir. He's undeniably handsome, with shaggy brown hair and a smile that would make any girl melt. But that was just a fantasy and the truth is in reality he never made me feel that way. I didn't feel electric just sitting beside him and my pulse didn't race at the sight of him. He's right; I don't like him – not like that anyway.

"I'm sorry," I mumble out eventually.

He looks disappointed, like he'd been hoping I might argue with him. His words had struck home – while I don't completely understand how I feel about Haymitch I do know I only see Fir as a friend. A really great friend.

"It's okay," he says, putting his large hand on top of my small one. "I just thought you should know."

I don't know what to say so instead I rest my head gently on his shoulder. We sit there, watching the sky darken to black.


End file.
